Let Me Explain Myself
by Thisisnataliexd
Summary: Teen!Lock - John Watson needs a change. Sherlock Holmes needs a friend, even if he refuses to admit it. But through the course of a couple of murders and snarky remarks, an unlikely friendship is born. Sort of. Someone wants John to leave, and will stop at nothing to make sure that happens. Sherlock will protect John, though. Or is it the other way round?Angst- eventual Johnlock
1. Chapter 1

**Hi. I don't know what to write here. I don't own anything... Not Sherlock... Not any of it. Oh well. This is just my story. Please read and let me know what you think! :)**

_When we're young, we're told that you should be your own person. We're expected to grow, and flourish into beautiful flowers. Some of us don't get very far. Some of us are plucked from the soil as mere seedlings, while others hang around for too long, thriving and cluttering up the ground. Whichever way you look at it however, all we do is survive. We're born, we grow, we stop growing, we die. It's a sad cycle but it is the cycle of life. For example; a beautiful orchids life cycle is typically no different to that of a maggot. So why are we all looked on as though we're in a hierarchy? The answer is: because we are._

_Whether you like it or not, everyone is judged. No one can roam the Earth without someone forming an opinion of them. It's quite horrible really when you think about it. What's a life in Africa compared to one in America? Why should the value of life depend solely on where a person if from, rather than their values? Their courage? Their morals?_

_I mean, who am I to say? I'm just a kid. I get stroppy quickly, and I have a very short temper. That's me. I'm very self-conscious and I'd die rather than have my picture taken. It's pretty much that simple. But what do you expect? I'm a 16 year old. What else is expected of me? I'm expected to go to sixth-form and maybe University. I'm expected to get a job and get married. I'm looking at my life and all I'm seeing is a notepad with pages to be written in but no rubber incase something goes wrong. It's rather difficult to explain._

_My storyline has already been written. Maybe you're remaining optimistic, which is good because someone should in this world. There are so many things I want to see and do, but my stereotype won't allow it. I'm white. I'm white and I'm constantly told to stop acting black. How does that work? I'm not a racist. I never have been and I hopefully never will. But to me, someone telling me not to be something, regardless over whether it's about skin colour, is rude. I hardly understand what constitutes as 'acting black', but at no point in my life have I gone out of my way and alternate what I actually am to something I know I can never be. I sound like I'm being slightly hypocritical now. But I'm not trying to._

_I can only hope that through the course of you reading this you have gained a glimpse into my life. You don't know anything about me. You don't know what I have a dog called Titan, or a cat called Skunk. But you do now. Because I told you. I may even go as far to say that I have a goldfish called Carrot. Would you believe me? You're allowing me to get inside your head and create an image of myself. You don't know my name, you don't know what I look like. I'm there, but I am nothing. I am invisible._

That was it. I had to cover my face in my hands to disguise my embarrassment for the poor girl. I couldn't bare to see the look on the poor girls' parents face as they read that. The Walters were nice, I'd met them (sort of), at a parents evening. They really were nice though, and Beth Walter was genuinely a lovely human being. She was always smiling and always happy to see you (well not me so much but who cares?). It was a shame that it was her, really. I was much happier about the death of the one before her: Julianne Mitch. She was an incredibly dense human being.

I know it's not nice to say bad things about dead people, but who cares? They're dead. What are they going to do about it? Hit me? I actually felt quite sorry to see poor little Beth go, I really did. But Julianne... The number of things I could have said to that girl. She bullied Beth to no end, which makes it even more horrible for Mr and Mrs Walter. A few weeks ago their daughter's bully dies, and then yesterday evening their own little girl goes due to an 'overdose'. Suddenly Beth's death is being treated as suicide, a guilty generated by killing her bully- and their daughter has suddenly become a murderer, and she is defenceless against it- because she is dead too.

Anybody with half an ounce of intellectual thought knew that Beth hadn't killed Julianne. Beth couldn't kill a wasp if it stung her ten times on the face. It seemed however; that I was the only one in this pathetic excuse for a school who thought that there was no way on Earth that Beth was the murderer. Anyone who knew Beth knew that she didn't write that note. She was a sweet girl, but her English was appalling. She was forever forgetting all punctuation and styles of writing. It made her English teacher weep. It made me weep just thinking about it.

There was no way that Beth had written that letter. It was supposed to be a secret that she'd even left a note; of course the teachers are rubbish at keeping secrets. They made no effort in concealing the fact that the PE teacher was having an affair with the Maths teacher last year, nor the year prior to that when the same PE teacher had an affair with a different teacher who had then left after the 'humiliation' of it all. It was a lovely place to be.

With this in mind, it caused me no trouble in acquiring the note from the staff room and photocopying it. The reason why the Police didn't have it I had no idea, the only explanation I can think of is that it was too much a complex thought process for the person who discovered the letter to point it out to the police that there was indeed a letter left. With any luck however they weren't as incompetent as the teachers and would realise that Beth's death wasn't suicide. Even if most of the evidence did point towards exam stress for the upcoming months. There was no way that they would listen to me. I didn't even know the girl properly.

I tried to explain the scenario this to Mike Stamford, a short stumpy kid who I'd recently taken to hanging around with. He was alright really. I could tolerate him if I put my mind to it, and it was better than hanging around with my stupid older brother.

"They've taken Beth's brother out of school." Mike told me, he had his hand stuffed into a packet of crisps trying to grab as many as his porky fingers would allow for. I nodded. I wasn't all that interested. Beth's twin brother, Luke, had shared a room with me (because the biggest joy of this school is that it is boarding). I hated him. For one, he refused to use deodorant. Since we started back in September I'd managed to get through two air fresheners, and they weren't doing the trick. We'd been back two weeks.

"Well obviously." I stood up and rested my head against a tree. The fields surrounding us were green slowly transforming into yellow. From this spot, I could see most of the school building and a farm in the distance. These murders were the most interesting thing to happen here since Fred Duke microwaved the school hamster, and then tried to blame it on some kid who cried a week before hand when we had to dissect a frog in Biology. I helped prove to the Head Teacher that he wasn't the reason for poor Mr Nibbles death. I considered it a result that I only got a detention after the amount of times I pestered her about it.

"Poor sod. He was an alright guy." He really wasn't an alright guy, but I couldn't be bothered to argue as Mike pulled some crisps out and shoved them into his mouth. It was disgusting. He glanced at his watch and suddenly jumped. "Sorry mate, I've got to go. I'm meeting a new student."

"Buddy?" I asked. All new pupils were assigned a 'buddy' for their first month. Any new student who came here was either dull and boring, or was dull and boring and also a snob. There was never any variation of character. I had no doubt that this new creature would be any different to the rest.

"Yeah."

"Don't let him get in my way." I ordered, and Mike chuckled as he wobbled off back towards the school. I couldn't be dealing with new students, especially when there was finally something fun going on.

_**Line Break thing **_

I watched sourly as the walls and the pavements turned to hedges and no pavements. I couldn't help but narrow my eyes as I caught my Dad feverishly take a swig out of a hip-flask while he thought I wasn't looking either. Drink driving is no joke.

Recently my life had become one big blur of unhappiness. I knew I wasn't just being a temperamental stroppy teenager either, as my therapist often said. I perfectly good reason to be a miserable sod and she damn well knew it. But I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. So I put on a brave face and forced my way through every single one of our meetings. She infuriated me. I did try, honestly I did, but occasionally I'd let something slip. Not everything I said was horrible though. To tell the truth I wasn't even being horrible. Just a little bit... sassy? Yes. Sassy is most definitely the word.

My nostrils shrivelled at the fresh scent of manure. Withdrawing me from my train of thought. It was her fault I was here. In this car. Stupid woman. She decided I needed to get away from it. I wanted to stay. Why shouldn't I be around my parents? But nobody argues with a Doctor, right? Not even me. As much as I'd have liked to. Some of the stuff she'd come out with... I'd make a better Doctor than her.

"We're here." I had hardly noticed as we passed the large sign reading:

_St Bartholomew's School_

_Science Academy_

Dad pulled into an empty space and switched the engine off. I took my seatbelt off and reached over him. He evidently thought I was going in for a hug as he opened his arms but I wriggled round them and pushed my hand into the driver's side pocket. I pulled back into my seat, clutching the hip-flask. Dad looking down, guilt etched all over his face.

"Promise me you won't drink." I said fiercely. God knows it was the last thing that they need at the moment. "Dad."

He looked up and smiled slightly. "God, what would I do without you, John?"

I scowled. "Yeah, well, you're gonna have to get used to it. You're packing me off to this dump. Remember?"

"You wouldn't be here if we had any other option." He said, I knew he was telling the truth. The least I could do at the moment was support him as much as possible. I smiled slightly and leaned across the gear-stick again, this time going in for that hug.

"No drinking though. Especially not when driving." I said. My voice was muffled as he squeezed me. He always was the best hugger. I could tell he was crying, but I had to be strong for him. For Mum. I couldn't cry. I couldn't.

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

We finally let go of each other and I grinned at him. "I'm keeping this though." I smirked, holding up the hip-flask. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"You're too young to drink." He pointed out, and I shrugged. I unscrewed the lid, and took a swig myself. It tasted sweet and wonderful. I would have tossed in some coke and ice in with it too though personally. From where I was sitting I could see a bin, I pushed open the car door and stepped outside. The air was bitter and cold. I needed more of the whiskey.

Instead however, I strode over to the bin and tossed the hip-flask into it. I then turned around and walked calmly back over to the car.

"You don't need to get out." I told Dad, as I shut the door and positioned myself in front of the boot. It clicked open and I dragged my suitcase out. I may or may not have scuffed the bumper, I felt a bit guilty but then I shrugged it off. It'd give him something to remember me by though. I'd brought all my stuff here. Including my favourite jumper knitted for me by my Nan.

I dragged the suitcase around to the drivers side, and my Dad had done down his window. He was holding out a phone.

"You're giving me a phone?" I asked, my forehead creasing slightly.

"... Yes." He said finally. I took the phone out of his hand and twirled it around in my fingers. I knew whose phone it was. He then gave me the charger.

"Have fun. Try not to get in too much trouble." He grinned.

"What're you on about? Nothing every happens to me." I smirked, tucking my phone into my pocket before beginning my long journey around several shrubberies and towards the front of the school. I turned around a give my Dad an awkward thumbs up. He'd be okay. I'd be okay.

I exhaled loudly. This was it.


	2. Chapter 2

**John's POV**

"John? John Watson?" I tripped over my suitcase as I fumbled to turn around and find out who was calling my name. I was standing in front of a very large, oak desk, with staircases spiralling off in each direction. My initial thought was that this place was very posh and I would lose my shit the second I saw two different forks to eat with and the other kids would bully me and then I'd get in a fight and then I'd get kicked out of the school and- I was worrying too much. I needed to calm down. After searching around furiously I clapped eyes on the only other person in the room as me. Pretty obvious really.

"Hi." I said, sticking out my hand over the suitcase which I had failed to manoeuvre my way around. "I'm John. John Watson." The other boy smiled at me and shook my hand. Apparently we were both lacking in the world of 'conventional handshakes', as it lasted at least five seconds longer than it ought to have done.

"Mike Stamford." The boy named Mike said. He thrust his handshake hand into his pocket and grabbed the handle of my suitcase with the other.

"Oh, no, it's fine." I said hurriedly, taking the suitcase back out of his grasp. "I'll carry it." Mike raised an eyebrow at me and then shrugged.

"Suit yourself. It's this way." He turned around with much more success than I had managed earlier, and started walking towards one of the staircases that spiralled off towards the right. "I should warn you though, the lifts are broken."

From where I was standing I could see through the automatic doors (which looked very out of place in the old building). Dad's car was pulling out of the school car park. Anything I wanted to say I couldn't say. It was too late now. But I hoped that bloody therapist was happy with herself.

As we walked around I drank in the school building. I attempted to make a rough map in my head of where everything was but by the time we'd reached the fourth corridor I was befuddled. I managed to make a rough note of where the toilets were however. Apparently Mike was reading my facial expressions (I made a mental note to work on my poker face, as all my expressions gave away my mood whichever situation I was in. This was how the therapist decided I was 'depressed' in the first place, because no matter how chirpy I attempted to be, she could always see straight through it due to my face. John Watson: 0, Therapist: 1).

"I wouldn't go I those toilets if I were you." He said, some what shiftily as his eyes darted around in search of what I could only presume were teachers.

"Why not?" I asked, intrigued. I was half tempted to push open the door and see for myself.

"Seriously mate, all the junkies are in there. They wouldn't appreciate you barging in on them while they're cooking." He stood in front of the doorway to prevent me from entering. I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Seriously? Don't the teachers know?" I snorted. How could a school be oblivious to what was going on within its walls? At my last school... I stopped thinking about it. The teachers knew everyones business there... It was their fault I got that wretched therapist in the first place.

"Nah." Mike shrugged. "They don't know anything."

I was starting to get a bad feeling about this place. For a start it was unfathomably creepy. Everything was wooden, and there was a draft seeping through the underneath of every door. It was like a place set in the Victorian times. The only hint that we were indeed in the 21st century was the occasional wifi router on the wall, or the loud music being thrown out of people's bedrooms.

"This is you." Mike said. We had stepped out into a large, open plan area where everything was considerably newer. "The school got a revamp back in '06. It's still falling apart though." He gestured towards a large gathering of damp underneath a window. I frowned at the sight of it. "This area of the school is called Baker Street, by the way." He added as an after thought.

"Why's it called Baker Street?"

"All the different dorm buildings are the names of streets in London. I'm in Regent Street." Mike shrugged. He clearly didn't know much about it himself and was therefore inept to talk about it. I decided I was asking too many questions and remained practically silent for the rest of the walk. I didn't want to seem more confident than I actually was.

"You're in room 221." Mike pointed a large finger at a wooden door in front of where we had stopped. "You've got a roommate, too." He stuffed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a key-card. He then passed it to me and I twirled it around in my fingers.

"That's cool." I grinned, looking at the card. My face was printed onto it along with my name and date of birth. The picture was a disgusting one, but it felt great to have my own card. The only card I'd had before was a library card which I hardly ever used. I think I'd left it back at Mum and Dad's... stop.

Mike shrugged. He was definitely the shrugging sort. "They're rubbish. Never work." He took the card off me and swiped it through a metal slit in the wall. A light turned green and he pushed on the door slowly. He stuck his head round, and then withdrew it. "Your roommate isn't here, so I'll leave you to get sorted out before he comes back."

He held open the door for me as I dragged my suitcase into the room. It was alright. There were two beds, one of them was made up very neatly while the other had its duvet scrunched up into a ball. The pillow was also the opposite side to where it should have been. I allowed my eyes to wander around the room. There was paper strewn everywhere. Not just on a messy desk where a stack of at least 10 folders piled high, but all over the floor. Some pieces of homework were sticking out of various books that were tossed around the room. Often they wouldn't even have anything to do with the book that they were connected with. An example of which would be a piece of trigonometry homework poking out from Treasure Island. The only reason I paid it any attention was because I nearly tripped over it as I walked into the room.

"Well he knows how to look after the place." I said, turning around to face Mike and scratching the back of my head. Mike smiled.

"He's okay. Just takes a lot of getting used to."

I looked at the floor and realised I was treading on another piece of paper. Mike turned to leave but turned around again. "... Just don't touch any of his stuff." He said, and then he left, shutting the door behind him, leaving me in this strange new room trying to decipher the identity of my roommate.

**_I can't find my line break D: _**

**Sherlock's POV**

"No."

"... Sherlock."

"No."

"For the love of God, Sherlock, just do what I tell you and we'll be done."

I scowled at the ground. Swaying slightly on the spot as I determinedly fought not to make eye contact.

"Sherlock, Mother wants you to run for school council-"

"Don't call her 'Mother'." I half snarled. "Stop trying to sound quaint, Mycroft. It doesn't work. Everyone just thinks you're being a pretentious git."

Mycroft half laughed. "Aha, Mother will love to hear about how grumpy you're becoming. Alas, puberty works different with each of us." The temptation to throw back a snarky remark was overwhelming. I was the same height as him now, if there was anyone with raging hormones around here it was him.

But alas, since the day I fell out of _Mum's_ womb I'd had the unfortunate pleasure of knowing Mycroft Holmes. I used to think it was a privilege, to have such a smart older brother. I was wrong. I knew he didn't really mean any of it, about everything he said. He was just trying to inflict his powers as a newly established prefect by tormenting me. It would pass. He was such a drama queen though.

"I hear that you're getting a new roommate." Mycroft said, changing the subject. See? I knew it was all a show. Mum did want me to run for school council though, but there was no way on this Earth I was going to. She'd have to think I was mad.

"Yes." I said shortly, finally looking up at him now that his spell of rudeness had washed off. I wasn't joking when I called him a git. I knew it wouldn't offend him. Nothing ever did. He was a very slippery surface that even rubber would manage to slide off of. He never held on to anything. It all just slid away into some black hole. It didn't stop me from trying every now and again however. I wanted to experiment. "Yeah. Only presumable seeing as Luke's gone and Mike's just told me that he's been buddied up with a new guy."

"Oh yes, John Watson." Mycroft said in a long, drawling voice. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. The guy new everyones business. "I wager he'll be out of your dorm within the two weeks. I'm surprised Luke managed as long as he did. What was it? A full year? How many roommates have you had now, Sherlock?" See what I mean? We were already back to this whole bullying thing. Idiot.

"Seven." I pointed out. I was now in my fifth year in this hell hole. "Making the average stay between 7-8 months... Why do you only think he'll last two weeks?" I asked.

"Lets just say that you're polar opposites." Mycroft said. I scanned his face, but it was pretty much unreadable. Except...

"How's Geoff?"

"Who?" Mycroft asked, evidently confused.

"... Geoff?" I half questioned. "That's his name isn't it?"

"The only Geoff in this school is Geoffrey Higgins in Year 7." Mycroft pointed out, and I frowned. I hated when he was right.

"Your roommate then." I said finally. Just this once I would allow Mycroft to feel like he'd beaten me. This was the only exception.

Mycroft laughed. "You mean Greg?" I nodded. "He's fine, Sherlock. Now consider the roll of school council. You'd be able to help get rid of that 'crack den' in the toilets." I smirked. Mycroft turned to leave, but turned around again as an after thought. "Hand it over." He ordered, sticking out his hand.

"I'm sorry?" I knew perfectly well (of course), what he was on about. That didn't mean that I wanted to give it to him, however. The letter left by Beth Walter was scrunched up in my pocket.

"Sherlock. You can't withhold evidence."

"I'm not."

"Sherlock, just give me the letter." I sighed. My breath was white as it rose from out of my mouth. I'd already memorised what was written in it anyway. I stuffed my hand into my pocket, grabbed the letter roughly and half threw it into Mycroft's open stretched hand. "You need to leave these murders alone, Sherlock." Mycroft warned.

"Why?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You are in the final year of your GCSE's now, Sherlock. You need to concentrate on more pressing matters. I see you're already failing PE." I grinned. I hated PE. I grew tired of cricket so I began to skip those the physical PE sessions. It wasn't like I was unfit though. I was actually quite a good runner to tell the truth. Sometimes I'd go to practical PE, but I already knew everything they were teaching us. We'd already covered it in Science. The only reason I was failing it was because I never went to the lessons. I'd get an A otherwise. "... And lets not get started on Religious Education." I had to agree with that one. Definitely not a place to get started.

"Okay, Mycroft. You win. I'll sign up for school council as long as you don't tell Mum or Dad I'm failing. Deal?" I stuck out my hand and Mycroft shook it.

"Deal." As he walked away I withdrew my crossed fingers from behind my back. Sucker.

**So... What do you think? The big meet will be next chapter. Please let me know your views and opinions on this fic... It's really amazing and helps me out a lot :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**Just a heads up, but there's swearing in this chapter, and there will probably be a lot more swearing as the story goes on. This is because I'm getting a very sweaty vibe from John, and I'm quite a sweary person myself so... Yeah.**

**John's POV**

"Fuck."

It was close. Very close. My foot had very nearly gone through that laptop as I crossed the room to get to the bathroom. It was only when I realised that I wasn't putting my foot on the carpet that I withdrew my foot and looked down to see the silver laptop purring away to itself. The amount of times I'd crossed over that section of the room... I could have stepped on it easily.

The room itself was fine. There were two beds, one either side of the room. My roommate had commandeered the bed furthest away from the door so I was stuck with one that ended as the door began. Which was okay. I could cope. There was a window too, quite large, but the curtains were shut when I entered and I had a coughing fit when I opened them. Clearly this guy wasn't fussed about dust. Clearly this guy wasn't fussed about a lot of things. Although everything felt strangely organised... An organised chaos.

A wardrobe caught my eye and I couldn't help but open it. I figured it wouldn't hurt to try and learn a bit more about this guy. I scoured the clothes. There were several items of clothing from a uniform, along with a rather handsome looking suit and a purple shirt. I would have thought that this person was very posh, if it hadn't of been for the jeans and several t-shirt screwed up right at the bottom. My theory was strengthened when I found the Bee pyjamas.

As I carefully searched I came across a suitcase, with 'Sherlock Holmes' stamped across it small letters, and then 'Keep Out', in massive ones. I didn't open it. It did say to keep out after all. I stopped then. I didn't want to judge the guy before I even knew him.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I hadn't had a chance to inspect it properly yet, so I quickly examined it. It hadn't been wiped but there was nothing on there. No pictures, no music, not anything. I saw that my Dad had slipped his and my Mums number into the contacts, along with my therapists. I wasted no time in deleting it.

I pottered around the room aimlessly for a while. I threw up some posters (I figured that my roommate would have no objections seeing as he had plenty of posters dotted around the place), and I managed to find some bookshelf space to put the few books that I owned. It at last started to feel more homely.

Eventually I settled myself on my bed with a chocolate bar that my Mum had put into my suitcase without me knowing and I couldn't help but smile. I didn't care what people said. My Mum is an epic Mum. I sat there, putting songs onto my phone and eating the chocolate until there was a knock on the door. I presumed it was Mike but when I opened it a different face was staring back at me, two of them, in fact. A boy and a girl.

"Are you the new kid?"

I looked behind me at the back of the room, then I stuck my head out of the door and looked both left and right.

"I appear to be." Shit. Way to go, John. You're supposed to be making friends here, not sending them away.

"Well, kid-"

"John."

"What?"

"My name is John." I always hated it when people were rude. I knew that this kid didn't know me but he could have at least said 'Hello'. Honestly.

"Oh." I stared at them both. I was currently talking to the boy. He looked at the girl awkwardly. "I'm Philip." He said. He didn't offer a handshake, so clearly I wasn't the only one in this school who didn't willing give out handshakes at every opportunity. "This is Sally."

"Right. Nice to meet you Philip and Sally." I said, nodding slightly towards them. I still hadn't left my room properly, and I was about to shut the door but then Sally blurted out:

"Can we see?" I was perplexed.

"See what?"

"Sherlocks' room!" She said excitedly, pushing me out of way and barging into the room. I gawped at her.

"No. You can't. Get out." I pointed towards the door but Philip had entered too now. They were holding up books and poking their noses into the bathroom. "Get out." I said again, but neither of them were paying me any attention. "Get out!" I shouted, and they turned around. Sally smirked. I'd chosen my position in the room incorrectly it appeared.

The door was still open behind me as she strode over to me and pushed me out of the room. Usually I would have retaliated, but I couldn't. For one I was completely baffled by the overall rudeness of her actions, and another reason was because I simply couldn't hit a girl. I mean, if that Philip kid had done it I wouldn't have hit him of course, but still. I would have at the very least given him a few choice words.

"Let me in!" I yelled, hammering on the door. They wouldn't open it. I groaned and sunk down the door. My key-card was in there. I had no way of getting in there now. My roommate was really going to kill me. I hadn't even met the guy yet and I'd already given him several excuses to stab me.

I don't know how long I sat cross-legged on the floor for, but it felt like a long time. My head was rested against the door, it was so dull. After checking my watch I discovered that it was almost four o'clock. My roommate would surely be here soon. I knew that dinner was at 5, so either he'd go straight down to dinner and then come back to the room, or he'd come back before dinner. All I could do was wait and pray. Who was to say that this guy would even let me in? He might kick me out. He could hide all my stuff- or break it all. I supposed I could just wait until Sally and Philip came out, but then I'd also miss dinner trying to revert the room back into its organised chaos as it had been before they rudely entered. I didn't mind missing dinner so much. I wasn't especially hungry

I managed to work my way into the people across the hallways wifi, their password wasn't exactly difficult to get into. 'Qwerty1234' certainly did not fit under the 'secure password' file.

I heard footsteps and looked up to see a tall boy with curly black hair walking briskly towards me along the corridor.

**Sherlock's POV**

Mycroft had annoyed me. I let it slide, like always, but he really had irked me. There was no way on this planet that I was signing up for school council. No matter what my Mum wanted me to do. She was just worried that I wasn't being 'social', or a 'normal teenager'. She worries too much. She always has done. Still...

I nearly walked past my dorm, had it not been for the boy sitting outside it. He looked miserable. At least I knew that someone else was also having a rubbish day, and that it wasn't just me. Apparently however this kid didn't realise that I was his roommate, as he sat twirling his phone in his hand. I looked him up and down- Yes, this kid was definitely having a worse day than me.

"Is it Anderson?" I asked, the boy looked up, startled, and then stood up. He was much shorter than me, with sandy blonde hair that was clearly not in it's natural form. It looked rather out of place, sitting on his head and spiking up in all different directions. It looked as though it should have been lying flat, and the only option that I could think of as to why his hair was behaving differently was because he was stressed about something. Which would have also explained why his ears were pink.

"Sorry?" He asked, and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Be nice, Sherlock.

"Anderson... He's an idiot and he looks a bit like a dinosaur?" I watched him think for a moment before he grinned.

"Yeah I can see that, now that you mention it." He laughed. I examined him more closely. This kid really did have some history. The things that had happened to him...

"What happened?"

The kid sighed and turned to face the door again. "I was in the room unpacking," I winced. Wondering how badly he'd messed around with everything. "And they knocked on the door-"

"They?" I interjected quickly.

"- Yeah, I think she said that her name was Sally?" I pulled a face and motioned for him to carry on. "Anyway, they knocked on the door and just let themselves in. Apparently they wanted to see my roommates apartment." His eyes widened suddenly. "Bollocks. He's gonna kill me. Fuck..." I raised my eyebrows slightly, but I didn't say anything. He was clearly stressed out enough, without me adding fuel to the fire.

"Don't worry." I said, stepping around him. "I'll get them out."

"You will?" He queried, looking at me hopefully.

"Yep." I rapped my knuckles smartly across the door. I could hear Anderson and Donovon giggling away. Irritating little- They opened it.

"Alright freak?" Sally asked, leaning casually against the black door frame as if it were her own. I could sense John (obviously I knew his name, Mycroft had told me after all) tensing up next to me.

"Quite alright, thank you Sally." I gave her a little nod in courtesy.

"Anderson!" She yelled into the room. "Freak's here!"

I quickly glanced over at John. I didn't want his first impression of me to be that I was a freak, as so many of the other people here saw me. I was therefore quite astounded to see that his face was torn between very confused, very angry, and even a little bit...

"Don't call him a freak." He said. I saw that his facial expression had changed completely. He seemed relaxed. It was quite a difference. It startled me.

"I'm sorry?"

"Just don't call him a freak. It's rude and it's extremely childish. How would you like it if someone called you a freak all the time?" Sally shifted awkwardly on her feet. "I thought as much. Now I would very much appreciate it if you left my room. Go on. Get lost." Sally and Anderson quickly exited, both muttering words that could easily have been 'sorry', but sounded more like some particularly nasty insults.

"Why did you do that?" I couldn't stop myself from asking. No one had ever stood up for me before. It felt strange. Even Mycroft had never stuck up for me, and blood was supposed to be thicker than water, right?

John shrugged. "I don't like bullies." I nodded. I understood. I couldn't look anymore into this guys history. I felt like I was invading his privacy.

"Thank you." I couldn't wait until Mycroft found out I was being nice to someone. Wait until he found out that I'd made a... friend? Nah. That sounded weird and slightly soppy. Acquaintance maybe?

John turned around. "I'm John by the way, John Watson." I grinned.

"I'm Sherlock... And apparently you're my roommate." The colour drained from Johns face.

"Oh shit. I'm so sorry about the room. I nearly trod on your laptop and I nearly knocked your toothbrush into the toilet. I didn't though so don't worry. Crap. Sorry about Anderson and Sally. I'm sorry if they've done anything else to mess up the room..." He was panicking so much. I didn't know how to handle these situations.

"Here." I said, pulling out a small bottle of an amber coloured liquid. John gawped at me.

"... I don't drink."

"I can smell it on your breath. A little bit anyway. It's not mine though, I pick-pocketed a year 13 earlier who was walking slowly in the corridor. Just take it. You look like you need it." John smiled apologetically at me and then took the bottle from my hands. There wasn't even a full glass worth in there. He unscrewed the lid and took a swig.

"You want some?" He asked, holding it out to me.

"No, thank you. Now, lets see what those two have done to my humble abode..."

**Okay so what do you think? They've finally met at any rate XD **

**If you wanna review thats cool with me, all comments are welcome :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Heyya! I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who has reviewed, subscribed, and favourited. You're all awesome! So on with this chapter then?**

**John's POV**

I watched Sherlock as he carefully pushed the door open. He was tall, like much taller than me, and very gangly. His hands and feet looked too big for his arms and legs to carry, and he had a mass of thick curly black hair sitting on top of his head. He was wearing a pair of jeans (I couldn't quite decide whether they were skinny jeans but too big, or that was the fashion that they hung loosely off his legs), and a hoodie with some obscure band that I had never heard of stamped across the front of it with a list of tour dates across the back. He seemed pretty normal.

He walked over to his bed, and flopped onto it, his back to me. I half thought he'd gone to sleep.

"Aren't you going to pack then?" Sherlock asked, breaking the silence. His voice was slightly muffled.

"Pack?" I quizzed, slightly confused by this sudden turn.

"Yes. Pack." Apparently he thought it was quite a reasonable command. I blinked. He rolled over and looked at me. He groaned before talking. "My dearest brother has informed me that you will only last two weeks. I want you to prove him and leave before - at least a week before actually - as I don't think you'll quite manage over the two weeks period. He's never wrong."

I gawped at him. "I've only just arrived." I said, slightly exasperated. Was he real? "How can you expect me to just leave? I haven't even seen a teacher yet..." He rolled back over and waved a hand signalling to me that he no longer cared about the situation.

"That'll be because of the murder." He said simply. I gaped.

"Murder? What murder?"

"Just some girl who died... yesterday. I think." He paused and then suddenly spoke again. "You don't sound like you're packing."

I managed to toss the news of the murder out of my head and swayed back to the original conversation. "So what, is this what you do? You act nice to people and then tell them to get stuffed?"

For the second time within the period of about two minutes he rolled over. "I was nice to you?" He seemed generally confused. "... That's a first."

"What do you mean? 'I was nice to you?', you got those two-" I gestured at the door "- out of here and then you gave me some whiskey. I think most people would consider that as being 'nice'." He just shrugged.

"I got two imbeciles out of my room, and then you told Donovan to stop calling me a freak. I gave you the whiskey as a symbol of appreciation about the whole Donovan situation."

"So you don't want me here?" I asked, and the guy just shook his head. "Well, I guess that means I'm not leaving." His eyes widened and he sat upright. Clutching his pillow that he'd dragged from under his head. Apparently this was not what he was expecting.

"What do you mean?" He looked like a rabbit in the headlights.

"Well, you're brother clearly doesn't think I'll last two weeks. You don't think I'll last a week. Do I get a say...?" I hesitated, mocking thinking. "Yes. Yes I do. Because this is my room too, so whether you like it or not I'm going to prove the pair of you wrong." I folded my arms and sat down firmly on my bed. The guy smirked slightly. "Oh what, so I'm amusing you am I?"

The smirked dropped to reveal a glower. His mouth opened but then he shut it again, gave me one last piercing look and threw himself back to his position. It was my turn to smirk now. What a little shit. I looked around the room again. He clearly liked getting his own way; something that I most certainly was not going to give him the satisfaction of having. I'd had enough of people walking all over me. God knows it had happened often enough.

After sitting there, with the silence boring into me like a drill, I decided to go for a walk. I would come back, obviously. But I just needed to clear my head and get away from him.

I grabbed my headphones, phone, the whiskey, and key-card (not wanting to make the same mistake as last time), and walked briskly from the room. I slammed the door behind me, although I doubted that Sherlock had even noticed my disappearance.

At first I let my feet walk themselves, and eventually ended up back in the foyer of the building. There was still no one around. I quickly glanced from left to right and half ran towards the door. They opened for me just in time and I found myself gulping in the cold September air. I was thankful of my jumper and I felt the wind try to empower me, but I still boldly walked over towards the gate of the car park. It was locked.

Usually I would have just bolted straight over it, or crawled calmly under it. However, this gate was very high and judging by the grooves in the tarmac, there was no way underneath it. I swore. All I wanted to do was go for a walk. I was just about to give up until I spotted a hole in a hedge which surrounded the school. Score. I quickly made a dash towards the hole and slithered underneath it.

The lane that I was standing in the middle of appeared to be dead. There was no sound, only the noise of the wind as it rushed past my eardrums, channeled by the hedges on either side. So I decided to walk. I took in another swig of the whiskey though, and let it wash down my throat. I should really stop drinking this stuff. I'm only 15, after all. Plugging my headphones in and putting my phone on shuffle, I walked along the lane.

It gave me chance to think. I finished the bottle and poked it into a part of some brambles, but then I felt bad about littering and pulled it back out, swearing as the thorns cut into my skin. Whoops. It had sunk right down to the bottom too. Just my luck.

I wondered what my Dad was doing, and my Mum. I pulled a face at the bottle clasped in my bleeding hand. It was partly this stuffs fault as to why I was here in the first place. I don't have a drinking problem, not at all. But I got a bit drunk with some friends once, and it just so happened that my therapist was driving past at the time of me throwing up my lungs. She'd immediately phoned my Dad, needless to say he wasn't very happy. This was just after everything... changed. My therapist said it was probably because of the stress. My Dad said I was getting mixed in with a rough crowd. I said it was because my mate bet me £10 that I couldn't down a whole bottle of some foul tasting stuff. Neither the therapist nor my Dad saw this as a good excuse, but the revision book I bought using the money proved them wrong in my book, however.

"You alright there mate?" A voice said. It made me jump, after I had just spent around 20 minutes drowning out the world with my incredible music taste. I pulled the earbud out of my ear.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I turned around to see a boy, about my age, sweating all over and wearing running gear. I couldn't quite fathom how he was standing there in a t-shirt and shorts while I was two steps away from getting frost-bite. I could have sworn it wasn't usually this cold at this time of year.

"You look a bit lost is all." He grinned, and all I could think of doing was to scratch the back of my head.

"Yeah, well. I just started at St Bart's... And I got into an argument with my roommate so... Fun times right?" The kid carried on smirking and stuck out his hand.

"I'm Moran, Sebastian Moran." I managed to squeeze my hand from out of my sleeve where it had been happily nestled in the warmth, and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Sebastian. I'm John, John Watson." Today was a weird day.

**Sherlock's POV**

See, Sherlock? Look where trying to be nice gets you. Bloody waste of time... I wasn't going to deny that I was better at the 'not talking to anyone' thing. I suited it. It suited me. I pulled my laptop off the floor and wriggled further down into my hoodie and duvet. Mycroft had informed me that some people were feeling intimidated that I kept walking around in a suit on a Saturday. If I wanted to 'fit in' I'd have to wear 'normal' clothes. What a load of bull. The hoodie was comfortable though, and I had been to see the band on it. A group called 'Trainville'. They were good.

My eyes flickered around the screen of the laptop. Despite me managing to get hold of the note, I still hadn't managed to work out how Beth Walters had died. Everyone was saying it was an overdose but I didn't believe it. Why should I? I had no reason to. Plus, I don't think that Beth would have been able to get a hold of the pills in the first place. She wasn't rebellious enough. I'd have been able to get them no problem.

The school nurse and person in charge of student welfare, Mrs Hudson, always kept stacks of various medicines in her cupboards because the school seemed to have developed a particular hatred of taking students to the doctors. Especially after that flu bought two years ago. That was a laugh. Except of course when I got it. Then it stopped being so fun.

No, there was no way that Beth had killed herself. No way. She was too innocent. Sure she'd put up with a hell of a lot of flack from Julianne, but that was different. Beth simply hadn't got the guts to stand up to her. Even I'd said something to her once or twice, and I'd rather not go around talking to people as mundane as her. But she made my stomach clench. I don't like bullies.

Somebody knocked on the door, ruining my train of though, and that was also when I conveniently discovered two pulleys on my hood and managed to pull them tight enough so that only my eyes and nose were showing. I ignored the knocking.

"Sherlock..." A voice growled from the outside, causing me to growl in retaliation. "Open the door."

"Get stuffed." I replied through the jumper, but the person on the other side of the door heard me and called through it again.

"Sherlock! For heavens sake... Open the door." A few profanities tumbled from my mouth as I harshly shut the life of my laptop and threw it across to the other end of my bed. I then stood up and ripped the hood from off of my head. When I did finally open the door Mycroft was staring back at me.

"Where's you roommate?" He asked, poking his head around the door and peering in. I had to fight the urge to shut his head in it.

"Out." I replied curtly. Mycroft raised his eyebrow.

"Out? Out where?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Go away." I made an attempt to shut the door but Mycroft's foot got in the way. Stupid git.

"I have information on Beth Walters." I stopped, and opened the door a fraction, just enough to peer through properly and see Mycroft.

"Go on."

Mycroft smirked. "She injected herself with something, they're trying to work out what it was. Undoubtably one of the junkies down the hall fixed her up with a concoction for something. The police are investigating."

"Which arm?"

"The right one."

I frowned. It wasn't right. Especially not from Beth.

"... Sherlock, I'm only telling you this to keep you preoccupied. On no circumstance get in the way of the Police." It was my turn to roll my eyes. "I mean it, Sherlock. The last thing you need is to get on the Police radar..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked quickly, frowning. Mycroft was always such a supportive older brother.

"You know perfectly well what I mean..." He drawled. He withdrew his foot, I saw my opportunity and slammed the door shut. Leaving Mycroft on the other side presumably giving a somewhat exasperated facial expression. He yelled through the door: "I'll tell Mother you're doing fine then!"

I couldn't resist the temptation as I yelled "It's _Mum_!" Back through the door as I clambered back over my room, across the books and all of John's stuff that he'd left sprawled around every where and opened my laptop, at the same time pulling the hoodie back over my head.

At least Mycroft had helped me out with Beth Walters. Considerably.

**So... What do you think? Please let me know, it seriously helps me out when writing the next chapters. Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, there's a fair amount of angst in this one so brace yourself. I'm sure there's worse out there, but I'm just letting you know in advance. Enjoy :)**

**John's POV**

We spoke for ages, it seemed. Sebastian was cool. Well, he was the nicest person I'd met so far but then again I supposed that that wasn't too difficult to achieve. Everyone had something about them that made me dislike them. Maybe I'm just a miserable person? It would explain a lot. Apparently however hardly anyone here went by their real names; which perhaps explained why Sherlock had called Sally 'Donovan'. Something that I have to admit did confuse me somewhat.

Sherlock.

What an asshole.

Sebastian told me that the guy was a freak. I know that I had stood up for him, but the whole 'not liking bullies' thing came into play again. So Sherlock Holmes was indeed a freak. I'd heard it from three people now, so it must have some truth behind it. Some people would even go as far to call him a psychopath, Sebastian had stopped calling him Sherlock altogether now and just referred to him as 'freak'. I didn't think I ought to go that far. But still... If the boot fits...

"So what about you? What's your story?" Sebastian asked me. I didn't want to tell him everything about me. That was me. It is and was everything I am and will ever be. You can't rewrite history. No matter how hard you try. That was something I'd learnt the hard way, and I wasn't about to tell some guy who I'd just met.

"Not a lot to tell." I shrugged, picking a blackberry off of a bush and kicking it across the narrow lane. "Parents just decided that the comprehensive I was at was shit and sent me here." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the absolute truth either. I could probably get away with it, and was relieved when Sebastian shrugged off the comment about going to a comprehensive. From what I'd learnt in the past people who went to posh places like this often looked down on the comprehensive kids with so much hate. They were our rivals. At my old school anyway.

The school opposite my own old one was called 'Grethis College'. They hated us. One day two groups of us got on the bus together, which was a bad idea. There ended up being a massive fight, and this guy from Grethis got punched on the nose. My Mum had made me go to First Aid classes, so I knew what to do with stopping this guys nosebleed. Only, while I was helping him out and giving him my tissues, the bus stopped and everyone ran off. One of the kids from Grethis told the Bus Driver that I was the one who had punched the kid (which I hadn't). The nosebleed guy didn't back me up. That was how I got my first exclusion. Fun times.

I watched the blackberry bounce merrily along and then get stuck in a clump of grass. "You?"

"Nothing really." That was that, then. We walked in silence. The conversation was dead. I felt like I was the one who had killed it. For God sake. What was wrong with me?

"...Guilt is only natural, John..." The words arose from a little corner of my brain and floated around. "... You couldn't have done anything..." I shuddered. Childhood issues are the best kind.

Obviously I knew that I could have done something. Anything. Anything would have been better than what I did. I just had a habit of making all the wrong choices. It was my specialty. I managed to shrug off the words that had nestled on my shoulder. God, it was a wonder that my parents hadn't disowned me entirely.

We eventually reached the hole in the bush and I clambered through like before, but only after allowing Sebastian to go first. It was fast approaching night, and we'd both missed dinner entirely. Even pudding. So it was quite a relief when he pointed out that sometimes they set up hot drink machines, especially in the colder months. This was one of those months. Bloody September.

I was therefore surprised when we suddenly took a turn. The doors to the school were right in front of us, yet Sebastian turned off sharply to the left and quickly vanished from sight. Naturally, I followed. Yet another bad choice.

"John Watson?" A voice called. I'd lost Sebastian completely by this point, and darkness was quickly spreading across the school. God bless Autumn.

"Yes?" I replied, raising my voice slightly. I had no idea where this voice was coming from, but it suddenly got a lot colder. Darker. I couldn't see. It wasn't even that late... "Who's there?" I asked the darkness, but the darkness stayed silent.

"Are you Sherlock Holmes's friend?" The voice asked.

"What kind of a question is that?" I scoffed. What was I supposed to answer to that? Sherlock had basically told me to piss off. I was barely in the position to consider him a friend. I sensed the darkness move.

"Are you friends with Sherlock Holmes?" The voice rephrased the question. I blinked. Slowly I moved backwards. Something told me that I must, that little feeling that you get, when you know something isn't right.

I jumped as my back came to rest on a door. My eyes had adjusted to the lack of light now and I could just about make out that I was standing on the very edge of a field, with my back apparently pressed against the sports hall door. I couldn't see anyone. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I felt goosebumps cascade down my arms.

Out of nowhere, a fist slammed into my face. It hurt. But it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I regained my stance, ready to make an unholy blow at my attacker, though I didn't get the opportunity. Fog lights on the football pitch broke the darkness.

Suddenly, I was made aware of an object flying towards my face from out of the darkness. My reflexes that I'd gained on the playground of my previous school, that made me so superb at (usually) avoiding punches, quickly came into effect and I ducked quickly out of the way. There were yells. They erupted out of nowhere. Yet the shouts couldn't disguise the sound of the fight, as knuckle smashed against bone.

Returning slowly to a standing position, I could make out two people grappling with each other, while another looked on from a distance with his hands shoved in his pockets. Black silhouettes against the fog lights. The two fighting however were at each others throats. The one person was considerably taller than their opponent, and in all truthfulness I expected him to win. I wanted him to win. But the other guy was muscular. Extremely muscular. He had more strength, but the taller guy had better tactics.

I watched the taller of the two swerve to avoid a punch and skilfully jump over a round house kick- how I have no idea. He grappled around before he smacked the shorter person in the centre of his face. The short one fell over. I was in awe.

A voice rang out from a corner of the field.

"Oi!" The fighting stopped almost immediately, as all three figures froze. They moved as one. As though they were all the same being. The shorter guy tripped the taller one up, and continued running, leaving the taller one in the mud. He stood up, brushed himself down. Then he turned to face me. I couldn't make out his face but I knew he was looking at me. That's when he took off, and I also realised that I must do the same.

**Sherlock's POV**

"You missed dinner." I said, not looking up from my laptop screen as I heard John enter the room. I made a point of covering my face with my hood, again, and shoved the other headphone into my ear, but I wasn't listening to anything. John ignored me. Fair enough.

I would have taken my hood off, but I had a nice cut under my left eye. John would know that I was the one who he'd seen fighting, if he hadn't worked it out already. Although the fact that I could now hear running water told me that he was trying to clean up his own face in a dismal attempt to conceal the fact that he got punched. So he obviously didn't know that I was involved. Good.

"Sherlock?" I pretended not to hear him. "Sherlock?" I could feel John staring at me, but I made no attempt to move. He groaned and stormed back into the bathroom, only this time grabbing some pyjamas with him. He came back out shortly afterwards, tried to get my attention again (which I didn't give him), before switching off the light and throwing his duvet over him as he got into bed.

It was silent.

"Who punched you?". Whoops. Maybe he wasn't that stupid. I pulled the silent headphone from my ear and raised my eyebrows at him. "Yeah, you." John said, sitting up and reaching across to turn a lamp on. I'd stupidly taken my hood off because I'd presumed he was asleep. I was slipping.

"I didn't get punched."

"Mate, you have a cut on your cheek. That's obviously from a punch."

"I didn't get punched." I repeated, but John just snorted at me. He went quiet immediately afterwards, like he was embarrassed about his sudden... happiness? He was strange. His emotions were stamped across his face like the headlines on the newspapers. This I'd seen when he confronted Sally. He went from miserable, to confused, to down right scary within a minute. I stared at him. He looked shiftily away. "I don't get it." I said at last.

"What don't you get?" John asked, looking awkwardly away. I had a feeling that I was about to cross over some sort of line, but rules are made to be broken.

"You. Why are you here?" I questioned, straightening my back and placing my hands together to form a steeple in front of my face.

"In bed? Because I'm tired." He replied, and I scowled.

"You're obviously here to get away from something, but what?" I decided to throw aside that comment and continue anyway, much to John's distaste.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why did that person throw a knife at you?" John froze. Fuck.

"How do you know-" He started asking but then his eyes widened as realisation dawned on him. "It was you." He breathed. "You were fighting that person... What were- what the fuck- shit." There were all those emotions etched onto his face again. Confusion, realisation, anger, back to confusion and then complete and utter 'I can't be arsed to deal with this right now'.

"You ran away from home at one point." Sheer fear flooded into John's face.

"Don't."

"No, you didn't run. But you did leave...What has happened to you?"

"I don't want to fucking talk about it alright? So just fuck off." John glared at me. There was the anger again, but terror was still smoothing out the creases created by the scowl.

"How old were you?" I asked. Finally realising what had happened.

"I'm not talking about it."

"10? 11?" I quizzed, I realised that I should probably stop but I was too intrigued now. Too interested in this guy and his history. "Why did was a knife thrown at you?" John clicked off the light and nuzzled into his bed. I was left sitting there, staring at him, trying to work him out.

"Did you know those people? Stupid question. Of course you don't. What about your drinking? Normally that's just being a teenager in a rough area... But you started drinking because of something else. Your therapist..." John cut me off

He sat bolt upright. "Shut the fuck up, alright? How the fuck do you know I've got a therapist? If I wanted to talk about it I would okay? I'm not talking about it to a freak like you. Goodnight." He threw himself back onto his pillow. I decided to stop.

The freak thing didn't effect me. I knew that it was going to come. It always did. But I'd never met anyone with so much history. So much stuff whizzing through his head. It was then that I realised that there was something circling John. Like a vulture picking out it's prey. John thought that only his past was there to haunt him, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see that something big was coming, and it had something to do with John Watson.

**What do you think? Carry on? Let me know how I'm doing, please? **


	6. Chapter 6

**Sherlock's POV**

"You've probably all heard by now that Beth Walters sadly passed away..."

Really? I had no idea.

"... We understand that this may be troubling for you..."

Yes. Yes it was troubling for me. I needed to get a good look at the body. It was infuriating me. Despite what Mycroft had said, and what the teachers had said, I knew that Beth dying wasn't simply a guilt thing. It was connected to Julianne's death though, that much was obvious. Not just because she had also died, and that she was Beth's bully. They were killed for a different reason.

Yet, I couldn't see it. An emergency assembly had been called at 9'o clock in the morning, because teenagers brains are always most active at 9am on a Monday morning. Even mine.

I kept scouring the large hall in search of a sandy blonde head, but I couldn't find it. Until the doors opened; slamming off of the salmon-pink sports hall walls. John was standing in the door way, hair sticking up in every direction and looking severely flustered. His messenger bag was thrown over his shoulder, his tie was scew-if around his neck beneath his blazer, and his shirt was hanging out of his trousers. I smirked. Maybe I should have woken him up.

"S- Sorry. Sorry I'm late." He panted, readjusting the messenger bag shoulder strap. A teacher (Mrs Pittbury) strode over to him, large heels that could barely support her weight clicking off of the ground, and whispered something to him. John nodded and took a seat at the end of one of the rows.

He sat down and I saw him shrink lower into his chair, a thousand eyeballs grinding into the back of his head. I turned around in my seat to see Mycroft sitting a few rows behind me, scowling at me and shaking his head. The boy next to him was trying to disguise a smirk. I pulled a face and shrugged. Mycroft sighed and buried his face in his hand- the way he always did when he was embarrassed by me. I lived for those moments. I stuffed my fist in my mouth as I yawned, I'd had an awful nights sleep.

The assembly carried on with the ever so wearisome tones of Mr Barrymore. He was a Major during the Falkland Wars and God did he never let us forget it. I had no mute button, and no way of quietening his voice. It was either loud or nothing at all. He'd also developed a particular hatred for me over my 5 year sentence in this dump. Something to do with 'being a smart-arse'. To which I'd pointed out that his wife was shagging their next-door neighbour. This was a very bad move on my part, mainly because I got a lot of detentions which resulted in Mycroft informing our parents. On top of that Mr Barrymore was also the ruthless PE teacher, so PE lessons became even more obnoxious as a consequence. I blamed his sexual frustration.

My eyes flickered around the room, working everyone out, but my eyes kept falling back on John. His level of hatred for me had probably doubled since last night, but all I could do was hope that he didn't find out that it was me who had fought off his attacker. Attackers. There were two of them. Only one did the fighting though. So who was the other? I couldn't tell last night because they were both wearing masks. Ski masks. The short one was a good fighter though, even I couldn't deny that.

The assembly ended and everyone stood up miserably, like a force of unhappiness doomed to spend the day living the same depressing life. I decided to find John, who had disappeared off with another kid.

"John!" I yelled, standing on my toes and looking across the sea of girls with messy buns and boys with comb overs that had too much gel in. I couldn't have my hair like that if I tried, not that I ever wanted to of course. I like my hair.

John turned around, saw me, frowned, and continue walking with his new found friend. Okay. So he was slightly pissed off. He still had 6 days to move out though. 24 hours would be new record entirely. Yet, I still wanted to find out why he was so secretive about his past, and why he no longer lived with his real parents... His real parents.

It clicked.

It was obvious. He had run away from home. He'd run away and ended up with a new family, who'd ditched him here, for some reason. His old family had completely screwed him over, that much was obvious. But now someone, or something was affecting his new life? What was it? Why did those people try to throw a knife at him? He seemed half-way decent, he certainly didn't seem like he'd had a bad upbringing, yet it was there. He'd simply pushed it all aside, but no matter how hard he tried it kept coming back to him. He was obviously no stranger to the drink, but that wasn't the cause. From what I saw yesterday he also knew how to fight. Not that he actually got round to it but the way he recovered himself after the punch told me everything I needed to know.

My phone buzzed.

I quickly unlocked it and read the text. My brain pattern stopped.

_Bike shed. 11pm. - _ZO

Fuck. My knees buckled.

**John's POV**

I glared as Sherlock walked into the classroom. I'd found a spot next to Sebastian, so there was no chance of Sherlock coming anywhere near me. Good. I hated him. I was still majorly pissed off about last night, and I had a nice purple bruise under my eye from the fight on the field. I was still none the wiser as to who that was. I'd have been able to handle that though; no problem. But then Sherlock had happened, again, and now I was scared shitless. Scared incase they'd found me again. They couldn't have though. My mind was suddenly brought back to the murders- suicides. They said I'd be safe here... Bullshit.

Sherlock looked white as a sheet, as he squeezed himself in between the tightly packed tables and settled himself at the back of the classroom. He looked almost ill. Good. Serves him right. It was his fault that I'd managed to embarrass myself on the first day already.

"So, how'd you get the bruise?" Sebastian asked me and I was forced away from my thoughts about how much of a dick Sherlock was.

"Oh. Urm, walked into the door." I said. I was crap liar, but apparently he bought it. I didn't want to tell him about the fight. He smirked.

"Sucks mate."

"Tell me about it."

"How was your first night in the 'Freak Flat'?" I grinned at that one.

"Annoying as fuck. He said that he and his brother had a bet going on about when I'd move out, I'll just have to wait two more weeks and then I'll request to move. I don't want to give either of them satisfaction."

Sebastian laughed. "They'll kill you before that. The Freak will anyway, his Brother's weird but he's not as weird. He's got more class,he hasn't got time for murdering anyway. He won't fight you, he'll just sneer. Sherlock's the one who'll poison your drink." I made a note not to accept any food from Sherlock, not that he'd ever offer me anything anyway.

"Wait, you don't think he's involved in those murders?" I asked, eyes widening. Sebastian's expression was impossible to read.

"Dunno. Probably not. He hangs around with junkies enough to work up a brew of something evil though. I wouldn't put it past him at any rate."

"He's a junkie?!" I half shouted.

"Keep your voice down! I don't think anyone's actually seen him but it wouldn't surprise me. You've met him. Have you seen him do his 'freak-show' bit yet?" Sebastian looked eagerly around the room. The teacher had written down some questions on the board and most of the class were talking instead of answering them. Evidently who was going out with who was more important than the different courses of a river. "Watch this." Sebastian cleared his throat and yelled "Sherlock is a psychopath!"

Every single student in the class dropped what they were talking about and span around to face Sherlock. His hand twitched slightly but he continued to scribble something down, acting like he had heard nothing- even though it was clear that he had. Sebastian shrunk into his chair.

"Damn. He usually acts to that. That's like his big thing." Sebastian looked generally upset that he failed to provoke Sherlock. "Tell you what, come down to the bike shed tonight. There's a whole bunch of us going." I grinned.

"What time?"

"Get there for quarter to 11? Maybe? Yeah. I'll meet you down there." I hurriedly agreed. I didn't want to miss out on anything. I turned back around to glance at Sherlock to see if he'd let his guard slip, even a little bit. But he hadn't. I felt a pang of guilt as I watched Sherlock continue writing. He was clearly an annoying prat, but really? These people were just mean. Sherlock hadn't been very nice admittedly, but something told me that it wasn't on purpose. That was a different kind of mean. This was just plain cruel.

"Has he got any friends?" I muttered. The class had all turned back around and continued gossiping.

"Nah. We better do our work before Miss realises that we've done nothing." I nodded and grabbed my pen. My head was spinning with everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. I felt bad for Sherlock. No body deserved that amount of hate. But there was something about him. Something that made me want to punch him. He'd known stuff that know one else had ever known. Stuff I'd never dreamt of sharing. I decided to stop thinking about it.

I spotted Sherlock walking around the school at various points during the day, but I didn't see him properly until the school day was officially over, including dinner, where he hadn't turned up. When I went into the room he was sprawled across his bed, fast asleep and snoring loudly. It was only 7pm.

**Sherlock's POV**

I woke up at 10:30pm. Ready to go. I'd completely forgotten about John's existence, so it came of shock when I found him on his laptop in the darkness with his headphones in. He wouldn't hear me. I was tired, too tired for this. I had to go though. I straightened my clothes and made for the door, but then John spoke.

"Where're you going?"

I didn't say anything.

"Are you going to the bike shed?" John asked. I nodded, still not saying a word. John couldn't go there. I didn't want him to go. He didn't like me already. I didn't need this. I didn't deserve this.

"Cool. Seb said I should meet him there. I'll walk down with you." He shut his laptop lid and got off his bed. Why was he being nice to me? He didn't know what was at the bike shed.

"I don't think you should."

"Why not?" John looked confused, but it was clear he was trying to be friendly. Why though? I'm a dick.

"There's not enough alcohol there for you." I pointed out, and John's happy demeanour dropped.

"You know what? Screw you. I don't understand what your problem is. I'm trying to be nice to you. Those kids, in Geography? They were vile. Why are they so horrible to you? Why are you being such a wanker? I'm really fucking freaked out that you know so much about me, but then realised that I don't know you. So I can't make judgements. I'm going to the bike shed though." I couldn't see his facial expressions because of how dark it was, but his tone was easy to translate. He then stormed past me and out of the room, to go where I could only hope wasn't the bike shed.

**John's POV**

"What're we doing here?" I asked, rubbing my hands together to try and warm them up. There were around twenty of us, all standing behind the bike shed. Sebastian didn't reply.

"11:01!" Someone yelled. "The fag hasn't turned up."

"I'm here." A voice I recognised spoke from the shadows. Sherlock?

"Beginning to get cold feet, were you?" Sebastian told me that the guy talking was named Zach.

"Well you picked a cold enough night for it." Sherlock said, and I smirked. It was a very cold night. There was a tension in the air though. Despite the jokes being made. Sherlock stepped from out of the shadows, not a second later Zach had charged.

Straight across the face. Hard. Sherlock fell as the punch swept across his face. The rest of the group were cheering loudly, including Sebastian. I ran forward.

Zach was pummelling Sherlock, Sherlock was trying to throw him off but other gang members had swarmed on top of them too now. They were holding Sherlock down as Sherlock struggled. Confused wasn't the word.

I grabbed Zach's collar and pulled him backwards, giving Sherlock some breathing space. The gang let go of Sherlock and advanced towards me. Sebastian was amongst them.

"What do you think you're doing, kid?" Zach hissed at me. I let him go and he span around. The blockade created by the gang prevented me from seeing Sherlock, but I could hear him coughing.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Why're you beating him up?" Zach stared at me.

"Why?" He was breathing heavily, I saw that Sherlock had managed to hurt him in some way though as blood trickled down Zach's nose. "Because that's what we do."

"I'm afraid I'm going to need a better explanation." I breathed, my fists were raised, level with my face ready to block the predictable punch that was so obviously coming for me. From either Zach or one of his henchmen.

Sebastian laughed. "Are you really sticking up for him?" He gestured behind him. I still couldn't see Sherlock.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"But... You hate him. You said so yourself." I shrugged. "He hates you! Who do you think threw the knife at you?"

I froze. Sebastian knew that someone had thrown a knife at me. I hadn't told him. I hadn't told anyone. The only person who knew was Sherlock, and he wasn't even there... So how did he know?

"How... How do you know that someone chucked a knife at me?" I asked, lowering my fists. Sebastian stepped forward.

"Why do you think we're beating him up? He was bragging about it all day. How he nearly killed you. We're getting him back for it. We didn't want to say anything. Sorry, John. We, we should have told you what we were planning on doing." Sebastian said, looking very guilty. I pushed my way through the crowd to find a bloodied up Sherlock on all fours.

"Is this true? You're the one who tried to fucking murder me last night?" I spat through clenched teeth. The guy was a fucking psychopath. As if I was considering forgiving him earlier. Sherlock wheezed, collapsed, and rolled over. He didn't reply, he just shut his eyes and coughed.

I didn't run. I just turned away and walked. Hands shoved in my pockets. As I went however, I failed to see Sebastian high-fiving Zach, then reaching into his pocket and calling someone.

**Well.. Shit. Okay. I didn't think this was going to be this depressing? Is that the right word? When I first started writing it. What do you think? Keep on with the miserable stuff or go towards the land of happiness? Just wanna also say thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed and favourited. You're all amazing :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sherlock's POV**

Strong arms wrapped around my torso and hoisted me up. I reached a standing position through the help of whose ever arms were supporting me; but I slumped back down and rested on their body. This person I knew was a hostile one, but I couldn't help it. My stomach was trembling.

Occasions such as this had happened before. So many times prior to this one. Yet I still took it. I still came to these unconventional gatherings, thus paying the price for my general insolence. I'd get the text from Zach, then I'd follow the instructions of where to go and what time, because I was always stupid enough to do it.

The reasons for these particular meetings had been shoved away into a place where I took great care never to venture. Zach had always been a moron, but he was a different breed of stupidity in comparison to the normal lot bouncing around the school. He was too stupid to insult, but he knew how to break others. How to snap them. He could wrap anyone around his finger because he knew how to play them. He didn't understand basic maths, but he understood when you insulted his mother. That I'd found that one out for myself.

It had started originally because I was tricked into coming, only that wasn't the case anymore. I'd had the unfortunate pleasure of knowing Zach since Primary School, and while my gut yelled at me from the pain of being punched by Zach; it was still true that we had once been friends. Somewhere in between however I messed up.

Zach began to attempt to taunt me verbally, but when he found out that that particular method didn't work, he began to find out information. Stuff I wanted no one to know. I didn't care about what people called me or presumed about me, but this was information that I had no burning desire for anyone to ever know, for the sake of what it would mean for those involved. How much hassle it would cause not only for me, but for Mycroft as well. No matter how much we hated it, school was our solitude. If one person knew, it would no longer become the safe haven it had always been.

Yet he knew. He'd found out somehow, and then the texts started. The threatening messages that promised to destroy me if I didn't come. Mycroft of course had no idea what was going on. He was usually good in the deduction department, but through my own particular skills in that area had taught me a great deal about concealing stuff. The art of disguise is how to hide in plain sight. Alas however, while Mycroft was oblivious, it was still ongoing. Which brought me to my current predicament.

My eyes followed Sebastian as he muttered something to Zach that I couldn't hear. I'd never really noticed him before, he was always just one of the figures in the back ground, cheering and shouting as Zach... Played his part. Today he'd spoken though, and now, as he stood facing me while I leant queasily upon my supporter, I was able to assess him. Finally.

"You..." It was difficult to talk. My brain was working but the words wouldn't come out. I was completely winded. "You... It was you... Last night." I wheezed. Sebastian grinned. He had his arms folded and he looked down as he chuckled. He'd nearly killed someone, nearly stabbed them in the face, and he was choosing to laugh? I felt sick.

"Well done. Did you work that one out all by yourself?" He taunted, and I allowed my lips to form a smile. "Sherlock. You're going to play this game. You're going to dance along like you're a puppet on strings. Do you understand?"

"Or what?" I said in as much a threatening voice as I could muster while my lungs scrambled to control my breathing. It felt like my diaphragm was having a party and hadn't told the rest of my body. The bass was dropping but everything else was playing a sweet harmonic melody.

Sebastian laughed as he walked around in a circle, shaking his head as he strode, until he came to face me again. "Sherlock, it'll be easy to destroy you. You're hardly alive anyway." I was puzzled. Perplexed even. I was still breathing, wasn't I? Sarcasm, Sherlock. Now was not the time for sarcasm. Probably. Needless to say though, Sebastian was going to try and play the same card that Zach had. In that moment I promised I'd never give Zach what he wanted again. I'd take whatever the punishment was.

"No, Sebastian, you're the puppet on strings here. What's your game? Who are you taking orders from?" I managed to push myself away from whomever I was leant upon and was able to stand for myself. I was still hunched over slightly, but I could feel my breathing pattern go back to normal. Sebastian went still. "You're following someone's orders. I saw that person, yesterday, watching it all happen from the sidelines. Who was that?" I took a step forward. "And what does it have to do with John Watson?"

Sebastian had come closer to me now. His face was mere millimetres above mine as he leered over my weakened stance. If I was straightened up I would have been taller than him. Much taller. This time however I decided to let him be taller than me, because God knows I would never let it happen again.

"It doesn't concern you. I'm telling you not to get involved. Don't get in the way. There are bigger people than you, Sherlock. Bigger people than me, even. John Watson is none of your business. He's ours. If you're as clever as everyone says you are, then you'll know that this isn't an idle threat. John Watson is ours, Sherlock. You'd do best to remember that."

"Why? What's so important about him?" I put as much emphasis as I could on the 'him'. Maybe, just maybe they'd think that I wasn't in the slightest bit interested in John's history. Maybe they would let me carry on try to work out what was going on. If they did indeed believe that I despised John, they'd drop this. Wouldn't they? But that would give them evidence as to why I had 'tried to stab John'. That wouldn't work. If everyone thought I hated John, would it really be that much of a shock to people if they heard a rumour that I'd try to kill him? John would support it. Why shouldn't he? My brain started to go cloudy.

Someone towards the back of the pack broke the silence that had fallen like a blanket across the night. I wondered where John had gone. Whether wherever he'd gone had put himself in even more danger. I didn't hear what had been said by the breaker of silence; but a moment later the gang scattered, running off back towards the building. As soon as they were gone I collapsed, and the blackness in my brain joined the darkness of the night.

**John's POV**

Fuck. With an extra helping of shit. Because I was completely and utterly screwed. They'd found me. After how many years of successfully evading them, now that I was alone they'd caught up with me. Maybe that's what Sherlock had meant, when he said I'd be out within a week. He wasn't talking about the room, he was talking about me. I'd be out within a week.

I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid, not to see it after last night. It was so obviously him who'd thrown the knife. I was stupid though. I always had been. That was one of my main faults. My stupidity. It was he always said anyway. Shit. _He_. Him. I didn't want to think about it.

Eventually, my feet brought me to my dorm room. Sherlock wouldn't come back. I was still slightly disgusted at how Sebastian and Zach had reacted. How they had pounced on Sherlock. Although I was slightly relieved that they had. While a bunch of spotty teenage boys were a good defence against another teenage boy with practically no spots; they wouldn't be much good against the people I had following me. It was still comforting though, knowing that they were looking out for me.

As I entered the room I collapsed onto my bed and yawned loudly. I was already so tired that it didn't take long to actually coax my body into sleeping, even with everything going on. Sherlock didn't come back.

The next day passed without much problems. I didn't see Sherlock once, he wasn't there when I woke up, and I saw no sign of him throughout the rest of the day. Sebastian and Zach were there though, they let me join them at breakfast and I spent break and lunch on the field with them. They didn't mention last night, and I was thankful for it.

After dinner however, I returned to the room to find it occupied. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, facing one of the walls which he'd plastered with pictures and sheets of paper. Wool of varying colours were stretched across the wall linking everything together. His fingers twitched slightly as I opened the door, but he didn't turn around. I shifted awkwardly around the room, debating whether I should turn around again. I was in the same room as a potential murderer.

"John." Sherlock said curtly, nodding his head slightly. I felt my ears go pink, but he still didn't look at me.

"Sherlock." I returned the courtesy. He said nothing else.

I sat on my bed and studied what Sherlock was looking at. Various compounds were sketched out. In the centre however sat a photo of two girls. Curiosity got the better of me.

"Who are they?" I asked, gesturing towards the picture. Sherlock didn't turn around, but he still replied.

"Julianne Mitch and Beth Walters." He said, and I nodded, forgetting that he didn't have eyes in the back of his head. I still had no idea who they were, but Sherlock apparently read my mind. " "They're the girls who were killed quite recently."

"Oh. So did you kill them?" Whoops. Considering I had no desire to be murdered, I was doing a bloody good job of taunting the potential killer.

Sherlock turned around, his hands clasped behind his back, and smirked at me. A knot pulled into my stomach as a saw the dark purple bruises dotted around his face, and a scab begin to form above his eyebrow.

"Jesus..." I whispered, standing up and peering closer at the injuries. Sherlock quickly turned to face the wall again. "Sherlock, that cut needs attention." I told him firmly. He waved his hand in the air, telling me to go away. "Where's the First Aid kit?" I questioned, looking around the room. Sherlock didn't say anything but continued to stare at the wall.

I found the kit in the bathroom cabinet, took out an anti-sceptic wipe and approached him.

"Sherlock, you need to clean it." I said firmly. He was so much taller than me, but I still got him to look at me. I put the wipe in his hand.

"Why are you trying to help me?" He asked, raising his eyebrow. Incidentally, this was the eyebrow that he'd cut and as it rose up his forehead it split open and started to bleed.

"I dunno. That needs stitches though." I said, pointing at the wound.

"I didn't try to kill you." Sherlock said suddenly. He pointed towards a picture on the wall that I hadn't noticed, it was of Sebastian. "That's Sebastian Moran. He comes from a family with a long bloodline in the Army, however, after his father went to Afghanistan his mother couldn't cope. She missed him too much. She didn't care for Sebastian. So he ran away and as to follow so many cliches, joined a circus."

"Right." I said, swinging backwards on my heels. "I don't understand." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"While he was there he became an expert in knife throwing, rifle shooting... Everything. He's skilled in many forms of combat." Something suddenly clicked.

"Wait, knife throwing? Are you saying he threw the knife? Bloody hell Sherlock, I know it was you. Otherwise-"

"You saw us fighting, look at the height different between Sebastian and myself. You saw him trip me up. If he were protecting you he wouldn't have tripped up your attacker so that while you're obviously further behind, said attacker has the chance to continue attacking you when you caught up. No, I saw Sebastian throw the knife and I decided to have my say in the matter." I looked skeptically at him. "You want more proof? Move to that side of the room."

I quickly pressed my self against the door to the bathroom while Sherlock pulled a can of spray paint for God knows where and drew a smiley face. He then pulled out a knife. My pulse quickened, but he strode straight past me and stood the opposite side of the room to the smiley face. He then stuck out his arm and squinted, holding the knife in the air. He stuck out his tongue and after what seemed like an age threw the knife across the room. It missed the smiley face by a mile.

"See? I can't throw knives. A gun would be no problem, but knives, no."

"How do I know you're not just pretending?" My brows furrowed. Everything that Sherlock was saying was making sense, but I didn't want to believe him. Could Sebastian really have been behind it all?

"Just believe me, John." He was half pleading with me. "I don't know why Sebastian tried to kill you but I want to know why. Nothing ever happens here, but so far we've had two murders and one near one. I want to know what's going on, and it has something to do with you."

I frowned. My eyes traced the string on the wall from picture to picture. Something was going on. I couldn't pretend not to be interested.

"Okay." I said. Sherlock grinned at me. "But if you try to kill me in your sleep I won't believe you any more. Now please get that cut sorted out."

**So... How was that? Am I doing okay?**


	8. Chapter 8

**So this a bigger chapter... Sorry. Sort of. **

**John's POV**

Sherlock hadn't tried to kill me in my sleep, something of which I was very grateful for. In the end, it was me who sorted out Sherlock's eyebrow as he refused to go to first aid unless Mrs Hudson was there, but she wasn't on duty.

I managed to clean it up using the antiseptic wipe, while receiving a lot of dirty looks from Sherlock as it stung him. The cut kept opening every time he scowled, which was a lot, so I cut a plaster into thin strips and stuck it on the cut, in an attempt to hold it together.

"You were talking in your sleep last night." Sherlock said, breaking through the calm silence of the room.

"Oh. Right. Anything in particular?" I asked casually. Sherlock shrugged, and I was relieved that he had chosen not to talk about it. God knows what I'd been twittering on about.

We agreed not to make our somewhat strange arrangement known. I was to carry on hanging around with Sebastian, and to try to find out as much information as possible. It was my idea, but Sherlock had advised against me doing it. We both knew that if we were seen together the chances of us finding out anything would be at a minimal. While I thought it was a perfectly sensible tactic, Sherlock disagreed by saying that it would just put myself at risk as I surrounded myself with them. I did have to point out that someone was already out to get me, which is why Sherlock then said he'd stay away as much as possible, but would be ready to intervene should anything arise. I was still trying to work that one out. All I knew was that I was getting myself into deeper, deadlier waters.

I was still wary of him though, despite the agreement to help each other out. I was wary of everyone. After everything that had happened I didn't know who to trust. It sounded so silly. How could a 15 year old have trust issues? It made me feel sick, just thinking about how messed up I'd managed to become.

Sherlock's story made the most sense, but something about Sebastian made me want to believe him. I wanted to trust both of them equally. In truth I didn't know whose side I was on. All I knew was that I had to get away from here as quickly as possible. It didn't matter which one was working with/for Him, because that had already told me all I needed to know. He knew where I was, so he wouldn't be far behind me. Maybe I was jumping to conclusions too quickly? He might not be involved at all... Great. Now I was becoming paranoid. Fucking brain being an asshole again.

Right now however I knew that my best option was to try and work out what was going on for myself and then make my own judgements based on that. I felt guilty about potentially using both Sherlock and Sebastian; but I planned to be gone by the weekend. Sherlock would win his bet.

I'd leave early on Saturday morning, before everyone else woke up. Then I'd get the bus into town and work my way from there. Maybe I'd go and visit Harry? Find out how she was doing, stay with her for a bit. She'd understand. Dad would murder me, though. There was no one way I was going to wait here for him to get me though.

The day passed with little intrusion of unwanted attention. Naturally heads would turn because I was the new kid, the new kid who had to share a dorm with the freak Sherlock Holmes. School dragged by slowly though, until I eventually found myself back in the room.

"Alright, see you. Love you too. Bye." I hung up the phone and threw it onto my pillow.

My Dad had called, just to check up on me and make sure that everything was going okay. I told him it was, and conveniently forgot to mention the knife incident, and the fact that I was planning on leaving. Sherlock had been messing around with his violin, but it was obvious that he'd been eavesdropping. He always did.

"Your brother has gone back to the booze." He said simply, plucking at a string and not looking up.

"Sorry?"

"Your brother, he's started drinking again."

I was about to inform Sherlock that I didn't have a brother, never mind the fact that my Dad hadn't mentioned Harry once during that conversation, when there was a knock on the door. Sherlock and I glanced at each other, and in an almost comical fashion we quickly stuck posters all over Sherlock's wall to cover up all the information that was pinned onto it. Sherlock then strode over towards the bathroom and locked himself in, leaving me free to open the door. We did it without talking to each other, yet it felt normal. I didn't think telepathy existed, but when the door knocked and he looked at me I knew what to do. I was beginning to feel guilty about ditching him, even though I hadn't done it yet.

"Heyya, you alright?"

"Urm, yeah? Yes. Yes I am. You?" I nodded at the older boy who stood in the doorway.

"Yeah, I'm great thanks. Sorry. Should probably introduce myself, I'm Greg Lestrade."

"Oh, right." I said, smiling slightly and opening the door a bit more, still having no clue who he was.

He was very tanned, like really tanned. His body was donned with the standard school PE kit, and his legs were caked in mud which was also splattered all over his torso. I guessed that he was a Sixth former, because he wasn't in our year (I hadn't seen him in any of our classes at least), and he didn't look younger than us either.

From behind me I heard the bathroom door creak open, and when I looked around Sherlock's head was poking out. Lestrade caught sight of Sherlock and grinned. "You okay to talk?"

Sherlock nodded before coming out of the bathroom completely.

"Okay, the Police are still treating Beth's death as a suicide-" Sherlock swore "... But they've begun to trace the drugs. How's your face?"

"They're tracing it, did you say?"

"Yes." Lestrade confirmed. "How's your face?"

I watched as Sherlock grabbed his phone and waltzed in between Greg and I until he was out of the room.

"Come on John!" He called. Lestrade rolled his eyes as he turned away, muttering something about Sherlock being ungrateful, and I quickly hurried after Sherlock. So much for trying to distance myself.

"Where are we going?" I panted, as I struggled to keep up. Sherlock had long legs and therefore a quick walking pace. I had little legs and therefore a slower walking pace. It didn't help that Sherlock was practically jogging.

As we got further away from 221 Sherlock began to slow down, and was now walking at a normal speed. It was then that he decided to answer me. I decided to try a different question. "How do you know him?"

"Two years ago, I got a broken wrist. Lestrade had decided to go out on a walk when he spotted a fight that I was involved in taking place. He managed to help me out and then took me to the local hospital because if the school knew I'd been in a fight I would have been suspended, again. He made me promise not to tell anyone that he nicked Mrs Biggs car to take me there..." He paused for a second as he realised what he'd just done. "Whoops. Don't tell anyone Lestrade nicked Mrs Biggs car. And in return I made him promise not to tell Mycroft about the whole 'beat-up' thing. We told him I fell out of a tree."

I took in what Sherlock had said. How many fights had this guy been in? How long had he been getting beaten up by Zach? Two years was a bloody long time, but I had a feeling that it had started before that. No wonder he wanted revenge. I wanted to know why he had kept going. If he wanted to know about me (which he did), I felt I should know something about him too. I decided that this wasn't a great time to start asking questions.

"How does Greg know what the Police are doing?" I asked. Sherlock looked confused.

"Who?"

"Greg... Greg Lestrade?"

"Oh. He works at the Police Station. Sixth Form here make you do work experience once a week. He usually knows what's going on with the local police and occasionally, he'll tell me."

Sherlock turned abruptly and made to push open a door. It suddenly dawned on me where we were.

"Sherlock, we can't go in there." I said, nodding towards the door. Sherlock raised his eyebrow in such a way as to suggest 'why not?'. "Because that's where all the..." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "... That's where all the junkies are."

**Sherlock's POV**

My face changed itself it to something that could quite easily be interpreted as a frown, or a smile. Inside I was laughing though. Oh, John. He really had no idea about this place. It was quite funny, really.

"'Course it's not." I said, shrugging slightly. John's face did the thing where it managed to convey everything that was going on in his head. It was mostly shock and confusion today. "Okay, some of them are, but they're fine. They won't hurt you or anything."

John opened his mouth and then shut it again, clenching his jaw. As I turned around I smirked, pushing the door open to reveal the dark and dingy toilets.

The cream walls were stained a disgusting yellow-brown colour, with splotches of a horrible shiny, caramel coloured liquid splattered on the walls, floor, and even the ceiling. It stank of piss, and there were large puddles on the floor that leaked out from under a cubicle door. The sinks all contained test tubes and safety goggles that made me laugh every time I saw them (they were prepared to inject themselves with something, but woe betide they got anything in their eyeball), while the urinals themselves were smashed and lay scattered across the red quarry tile flooring. I took great care not to step on anything other than the tiles as I worked my way across the room. John looked disgusted.

"There's nobody here." John whispered from behind me. He was standing in the door way and his fists were clenched. His eyebrows were knitted tightly together as he stood taking in the room, and his nose shrivelled as he got the first scent of some foul substance.

"Shut the door. What if someone walks past? You don't want to get caught in the 'Junkie Den'." Junkie Den. That made me laugh. They weren't junkies at all. There really wasn't a drug problem in this school. There were however a lot of science enthusiasts who had enough of the boring science teachers and found a way to pick the lock on the chemical storeroom.

"Then what are we doing here? Sherlock, I better not have come with you so you can get high." John glowered. This guy actually thought I did drugs. That would be Sebastian though, I supposed, telling him that. I thought the whole drugs thing had stopped, and anyway, the last time that I'd actually gotten high was... Ages ago. Definitely not recently, anyway. Mycroft made sure of that.

I chose to ignore John, the less he knew about the drugs the better. Honestly, you do one thing one time... A couple of times... Screw it. My life was a mess. But now I was getting distracted.

Believe it or not I was actually looking for something. The toilets were deserted at the moment, but they soon wouldn't be. They called it the graveyard shift. People did brew here, so there was some truth behind the junkie rumours. That's possibly where the stories started about me had started. I was actually quite proud of the fact that I'd managed to turn several U-Grade students into A* Drug Chefs. Sort of.

It was all very fiddly. They would sell on actual drugs, but that was only to adults in town and it was all very secretive so that should the Police get wind of it they wouldn't be able to trace it back to us. That was the only real drug dealing that went on. The money made would go into the students involved savings accounts, so they'd have some money for when they left this hell-hole. Any students who wanted to buy drugs were refused. Besides, it was very rare that we actually sold the drugs, more often than not the room was full of pyromaniacs and amateur chemists who just liked to mess around and blow stuff up. I made it my job to make sure that the people who brewed didn't take any drugs themselves. That was probably the nicest thing I'd ever done for another human being.

I caught sight of the small leather book propped against the window pane and made my way towards it.

"They keep a record of all the money they make to make sure it goes to the right places." I said, turning over the pages.

"What?" John asked, he'd pulled out his phone and was using it as a flashlight and pointing it at me. It was dark in the room, some the new light was much appreciated. The old light had broken after someone knocked it out during an explosion.

"They don't do the drugs, they just make them and sell them. They keep track of all the money used and made. If someone's bought something off them directly it'll be in here."

"And what, you think the person who drugged Julianne and Beth bought the drugs from another student? That's stupid. They'd be tracked down no problem."

"You seem to know an awful lot about this." I said, and John shifted awkwardly on his feet. "No, they won't have bought it directly. Names aren't written in here, so we wouldn't be able to find them that way either. However..." I flicked through the pages until I found the right one and then held it up for John to see. "Five hundred thermometers have been bought using the money made in one of the sales."

John looked confused.

"Why would anyone steal so many thermometers?" He asked, and I was about to reply, but then the door burst open and a figure was standing in the doorway.

"John?"

I looked over at John, and even though the room was dark I could see the colour in his face drain away. He was rigid.

It was a man. A man whose figure I'd never seen before, I had no recognition of him. He wasn't a teacher, and he most certainly was not a caretaker.

"What... What're you doing here?" John asked. His voice had been reduced to that of a mouse. He'd taken a couple of steps backwards and had tucked away his phone back into his pocket. Who was this man? How did he get into the school? And why was John so afraid of him?

"They said I could come and see you." The man said. His voice sounded warm, but his face was murderous.

"... No. No. You can't be here." John said, he was clearly trying to remain calm but the panic was evident. "They wouldn't let you in, it's too late. You... You can't even see me. You're not _allowed_ to see me." The man took a step forward and John took another step backwards. "No! Don't come near me!" The man kept walking, and John carried on walking backwards. It was like some vicious dance, and all I was doing was watching.

"Come on, John. We're leaving." The man said. Power was rising in his voice and it was nearing a shout, John's voice was also increasing in ferocity. Who was this person?

"No... I'm not going with you. How... How did you even get in here? Why the fuck can't you just leave me alone?"

I knew who he was. His fists clenched in the same way. He walked with the same little strut. This man was threatening.

"What's the matter, John?" He asked. John was now pressed against a smashed urinal. "Don't you want to spend time with your Father?"

***Cue dramatic music*. Was that dramatic? Idk. Oh well. So... Yeah. I was thinking of uploading this to Wattpad. What do you think? Yay or nay? **


	9. Chapter 9

**Sherlock's PO**

"You're not my Dad." John spat.

"Get away from him." I growled. My own hands were clenched too now, arms hanging down from my shoulders as I stepped forward. I didn't know what was happening to me. Something was most definitely stirring up inside me. I knew how to fight, that much had been proven with my encounter with Sebastian on the field. So why didn't I do it as often as I probably ought to?

"What's this then, John? Have you managed to get yourself a friend? I didn't think you were capable." The man said, smirking slightly as he looked between me and his son. John had gone timid again, allowing his defences to be lowered as his father looked away. His face just hung from his skull; being pulled down by gravity and relaying a state of complete and utter redundancy. What had this man done to make John feel like that? Why did I have an urge to stab him in the throat with a spoon? A spoon though. Really, Sherlock? Was now the time to be making yourself laugh?

"I said get away from him." I said, my jaw wanted to become clenched but I knew that a threatening approach wouldn't work on this man. If I were to beat him I'd have to try a different tactic. He clearly felt like he had the upper hand. He had to feel like he owned the situation. God, if only I had a spoon on me.

"Or what?" He teased, snarling at me.

"Or I'll phone the police and tell them that you've broken the law in an attempt to get near John. While I'm at it I may also consider telling them that you've recently gotten involved stealing money... Mugging people, it would seem... And of course I'll let them know about what is apparently the attempted kidnapping of John Watson which is currently taking place. Now don't tell me that that's not a good enough incentive for you to flee and to never approach John again."

He blinked at me, and for a split second I thought that maybe I'd actually beaten him. I was wrong.

He strode towards John and grabbed him by the collar. John kicked him furiously as he latched onto his father's arm in a desperate attempt to pull him off. It didn't work. John was strong, but he wasn't strong enough. As they reached the door John turned his head towards me, his eyes filled with sheer panic, before they disappeared.

How had this man even got into the school? He reeked of alcohol for a start. Someone would see them. I'd seen them. I was witness. Right now, I was the only one who could help John. So I leapt out of the bathroom and ran down the corridor after John and his father.

**John's POV**

I'd been too slow. I'd been too damn slow and now he'd caught up with me. I knew this whole boarding school thing was a bad idea. He would never have dreamt of approaching me while at home, but now, now I was away from the protection of the local police, and all the lovely neighbours who looked after me and invited me around to stuff my face with cake (God bless nosey old people) and who would look out for me, he'd got me. Fucking prick.

"Let go of me!" I shouted, hoping to catch someones attention in this dismal building as I was dragged away.

"Shut up. You wait until we're in that car, John. Jesus Christ are you in for it..."

Where had Sherlock gone? Surely he was supposed to be helping me? He'd practically just argued with him, threatened him, even. But now... Now he was no where to be found, My stomach lurched. As if I'd could have ever thought that someone would actually help me. Whatever happened to me I probably deserved. I would have done something. Maybe it was because I was such a general all-round shit human being who didn't deserve to walk on this planet. I-

"Mr Watson!"

Maybe I didn't see him because I was too busy trying to shout for help, or because I was attempting to strangle my blessed Father, but all I knew was that a foot had appeared from out of nowhere causing him to trip over, and in doing so let go of me.

A pair of hands fastened themselves around my own, pulling me up. I was looking right into the face of Sherlock.

"Thanks." I panted.

"Thank me later. Run." Sherlock said, and the pair of us took off along to corridor, with my Father behind us trying to regain his balance. Drunken fool.

"Where I we going?" I asked, as we fled around a corner.

"Where would he expect you to go?"

"I dunno." It was difficult to talk as we ran. "He'll think I've gone to hide, probably."

"Then that's what we won't do." He sped round a corner and we rushed through the automatic doors that allowed access into the school building.

I allowed myself a curious glance at Sherlock, he was rubbing his hands together, his breath coming out in thick tufts that looked like smoke. Not for the first time I found myself standing in the bitter cold air of September.

"Wait until I say, and then run towards that gap in the hedge." Sherlock said, pointing at the hole where I'd climbed through before.

"But he'll be coming out any second-"

It really was any second, because as I was speaking the doors that Sherlock and I had allowed to close quietly behind us were being hammered on before they got the chance to open. Sometimes Automatic Doors were useful, I supposed.

"Run!

We ran. Across the car park until we reached the bush. He was right behind us, and I hardly had time to breathe a 'thanks' to Sherlock as I felt the strangely large hands push me through the hedge first. I slid out the other side just in time to avoid my father's hand grab the back of my jumper.

"Move out my way." I heard him growl, obviously to Sherlock.

"John, run!" Sherlock yelled. I couldn't see what was happening. I wanted to know what was going on. What was Sherlock going to do? I could feel my heart hammering in my chest. Jesus... If he got hurt because of me...

Sherlock's hand appeared through the gap. I quickly grabbed it and pulled him through, and he slid out just like I had done, only with more composure. He stood up and brushed himself down of all the leaves and twigs he'd collected. Angry swears were throwing themselves into the night as my father fought to make his own way through the hedge. I of course offered him no help.

"Now what?" I asked, sorting myself out as I realised that I myself was covered in bits of twig. Sherlock glanced at his watch.

"This way." He said, pointing towards the opposite end of the road to which I'd walked previously. He then took off without warning, and I somewhat gladly pursued.

The bus was jammed. I kept knocking into everyone as it jolted around a corner, I had no idea how Sherlock was able to stand there so rigidly without moving as he typed away madly on his phone, only holding onto a single pole. A free seat towards the back quickly caught my attention, and I decided to try and make my way over to it until a hand pulled me back.

"Don't. You really don't want to go and sit over there." Sherlock muttered, going back towards his phone.

"Why not?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Go and sit next to the little old lady? Why not? Our stop's not far away, she wouldn't have time to show you all her cat photographs."

I snorted. "Cat photographs?"

"They're poking out of her bag... Half an hour at the most to get through all that. Anyway, she smells of cabbage, a common thing amongst old people but her scent is too strong. Look at her eyes, she's confused. Her bag is bulging with cabbages, as well as the cat photographs. That means she's at least slightly crazy. Crazy old grandmother sitting on a bus? What're you? 15, 16? Young enough to be her great grandchild at any rate. Don't go and sit next to her unless you want to be talked to death." Sherlock finished. I'd watched him scour the old woman with his eyes, and now he mentioned it I could distinguish between the faint smell of cabbage and the rest of the foul odours that hung around the bus.

"This is us." Sherlock said, pressing the button that told the driver we needed to stop. I couldn't help but feel anxious. Where was he?

**Sherlock's POV**

I nodded towards the bus driver as a way of saying thanks, and then hopped off the bus. John clambered out moments afterwards, and followed me towards the cash machine that I'd begun to worm my way towards.

We were in the closest city to St Bart's, if John's Father was looking for him he'd undoubtably be trying all the local towns first. We were quite lucky, the bus we'd taken often didn't run. It skipped the smaller towns and villages, which was good, especially seeing as we caught the latest bus meaning that John's father couldn't just hop on the next one. He'd probably driven it, though.

I whipped out my debit card and shoved it into the machine. I was one of the few people my age to own a debit card, and it gave me great pleasure being able to buy stuff on a whim. The other students would have to hassle their parents... But mine filled mine up whenever it was low. They both had very well paid jobs, but they didn't spoil us. I only had a debit card that was always full because I usually ended up getting sucked into all sorts of difficult situations. I'd ended up in Edinburgh once with no cash and no phone. So they decided that I was for the best.

The number popped up and I saw that it had been topped up quite recently. After pulling it out again I turned around to face John. The streets were bustling.

"Now what?" John shivered. He was looking around with cautious eyes, obviously in search of his father.

I didn't speak as I fought my way through the mass of people littered on the pavement. It was a Thursday, for God sake. Why was it so busy? Then it dawned on me.

"If your father is looking for you then we need to blend in." I said, pulling over to a large Box Office. I swiftly bought two tickets before John noticed and panicked over someone spending money on him, which judging by the way he acted was probably something he'd do. "This way."

We walked towards the dingy building, the light emanating off of the place name was casting a dim glow on the street below. One of the letters was flickering away quite contently.

"What're we doing here?" John asked, eyeing the building skeptically.

"Concert."

John froze. "We're going to a concert? Sherlock? What the fuck?"

"Just go with it." I told him, as I pulled my hood up over my head. I indicated for John to do the same and he did so. I pushed the door open and held out the tickets to a rather menacing looking bouncer type guy. He waved us through.

**John's POV**

Out of all the things to do, this was probably the most ridiculous of them all. Who could suggest going to a concert while practically being hunted down?

"The thing is, it's the last place anyone would expect you to be." Sherlock said as if reading my train of thought, and pushing open a door that led into a large black room filled with people. A bar stood at one end, while a stage filled the rest of the room. The audience didn't have a lot of room.

We managed to squeeze our way through the sea of people so that we were quite close to the front. Sherlock looked surprisingly eager as the large speakers started humming and the purple lighting washed over everyone.

"Who are we seeing?"

"Shhhh."

Sherlock was excited. It was so strange. He was normally so secretive, but now his eyes were alight with sheer delight at the prospect of the band coming on stage. While quite tall, he still stood on his tip toes to get a better look. I of course had no chance. Someone leapt on stage and everyone cheered, including myself and Sherlock.

The band was Trainville. Of course it was Trainville. Sherlock never took off that hoodie, unless he had the opportunity to wear a suit. I allowed the music to wash over me, engulfing my brain in heavy sounds filled with guitar solos and some seriously awesome drumming. One of the members then plucked a violin out of nowhere and began playing it furiously. They were pretty good, and I even managed to forget about my father. Which was always a bonus.

I watched as Sherlock swayed at the more melodic parts, and jumped with everyone else as the bass dropped in others. It was so strange to see him like this. His thick black hair was bouncing around his head, and the lighting from the stage made his face seem almost purple. He seemed so different compared to the asshole I'd met on my first day, even more so the guy who'd I'd seen get beaten up a few days earlier. Yet here he was, bouncing around and clapping in time to the music, as if none of it had ever happened.

"Make the most of it." Sherlock shouted over the music, my ears barely picked him up. "They're going to break up soon!" I decided to shake off the fact that he knew they were going to break up, and just continued to enjoy the music while I still could.

**Sherlock's POV**

"That was amazing!" John said, his voice was raised slightly louder than was appropriate, seeing as we were now stood on the pavement. We had been relatively close to the speakers though. Eh, his ears would adjust to normal volumes soon enough.

"Taxi!" I waved a hand as I saw the black cab trot merrily along the road. Usually it took ages to hail a cab.

I allowed John to climb in first, and when I myself was seated pulled out my phone for the first time since the concert had began.

3 missed calls - Mycroft Holmes

17 text messages - Mycroft Holmes

2 text messages - Lestrade

1 text message - Number Unknown

I unlocked my phone and scoured through the texts, before decided to read the one from the unknown number.

_Did you enjoy the concert?_

**So urm. How was that? Sorry this has taken slightly longer than the others, I've been doing stuff. Should I carry on?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Sherlock's POV**

I rapped my fingers angrily across the desk. Drumming an unrepeatable rhythm into the table and filling peoples ears with a desolate thudding that they'd probably rather have gone without. My argument was that what my drumming was to them; their talking was to me.

"Mr Holmes." I lifted my head as my name was called. The people talking were my fellow school council members, all moaning and complaining about the various issues that they had managed to conjure up. Most of the questions had been asked before. It was the usual flow of witless babble. I'd learnt how to tune out a while ago. "Do you care to add anything?"

"Yes." I said, straightening myself up from the slouching position that I'd acquired on the plastic chair. "I want to improve the schools security system."

The teacher was one Mrs Green, a straightforward albeit kind woman with a long history of bad relationships, and a slightly unhealthy obsession with cats. Needless to say, as an experienced woman who'd dealt with me for around five years, she could see where this was going.

"Such as...?" Her voice trailed away, as though expecting me to finish the sentence.

"Well anyone can just walk in, can't they? I mean, it's not exactly difficult. Half of the CCTV cameras don't work, and the teachers don't give a toss about who could be roaming around."

That last one was a jab about last night. None of the teachers, nor the students had had any inclination that there was a drunken fool roaming around the corridors, or that John and I had run off. It was appalling, quite honestly. It did mean that I could run around and leave whenever I felt like it, but after seeing John's father last night... My views on the schools somewhat poor security alarmed me.

I was almost about to swing into the full explanation of why everything here was pathetic, when I was rudely interrupted by a new source.

"Sherlock... A word." The voice drawled from the doorway, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes as Mrs Green's face turned to that of relief. Slightly rude. I had some good points to make.

I stood up slowly, taking as much time as possible to stretch and find my feet. Creating a scene was generally what I did best, and there was no way that I was going to follow Mycroft's direct orders. He'd have to wait first.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft snapped. Maybe he'd waited long enough. I quickly made my way over to him, dancing across him as I walked out of the room and poking my head around the door to say:

"Security cameras." I then departed, leaving a somewhat disgruntled Mycroft to follow after me.

Once we were standing in the hollow corridor, my 'cheerful' demeanour dropped, and I was left with my hands clasped behind my back while having a silently agreed staring contest with Mycroft.

"Well?" I'd won that round, then.

"A well is a cylindrical structure going deep into the ground and is used to bring water back up to the surface. Quite a nifty little contraption, in my opinion. However you've also got Wishing Wells, I've never really seen the point in those. I mean the wishes never actually come true. It's just a waste of money-" The look on Mycroft's face told me to stop talking.

"How's John?" Mycroft asked, recollecting himself after my explanation of Wells. I could tell that he'd found it amusing, though, despite the disapproving scowl.

"He's... Fine."

"Fine?"

"Dandy."

"I know you two ran off last night." Mycroft said, deciding to drop all pretences, which was a shame, because I'd been enjoying them.

"I'm sure you're quite mistaken." I shoved my hands into my blazer pockets and attempted to turn around, pivoting on my heel, until Mycroft's hand came into contact with my shoulder. I lightly spun around to face him again.

"Sherlock, you need to be more careful. Your school records-" I rolled my eyes "You can't afford to-" I tapped my foot impatiently "Mother wouldn't want-"

"Mum." I corrected him.

"This is for your own safety, Sherlock. A bigger game is being played out here. You can't afford to slip up. You need to keep yourself safe. You need to stay away from John."

"John? What? Why?" Why did I have to stay away from John? Unless... "A bigger game? What do you know?" It was one of those occasions where Mycroft's expression was impossible to read. Despite us being the same height he still always managed to look down on me. I decided this time to accept it. "You can't tell me that you know something, and then not tell me what it is, especially when it involves someone I know." I moaned. "It doesn't work like that."

Mycroft just smirked at me, before turning around and strutting away. "You're such a drama queen!" I yelled after him, but I got no response.

**John's POV**

Umf.

Whoops. I rolled over groggily, a book pressing into my back as I did so. Spotting the corner of my duvet I pulled it down to join me, wrapping myself up in it like a burrito. Or a chrysalis. But damn, the prospect of a burrito... My stomach growled.

I heard the door open and made no effort to get up. Suddenly the floor had become very comfortable, and warm.

"John?" Sherlock's voice spoke to me.

"Mm-hm?" I hummed, snuggling myself further down into my cocoon of burrito.

"What're you doing?" He asked, talking a gallivant leap across me and landing swiftly on his own bed.

"Sleeping." I replied, shutting my eyes.

"But you're awake... So how can you be sleeping?" Sherlock quizzed, and underneath the lids my eyes rolled.

"... What do you want, Sherlock?" I asked, forcing myself to look more awake than I actually was.

"To see if you were okay." He replied. I straightened up and my eyes flickered open, pushing myself into a sitting position. Sherlock looked anxious. Like, properly anxious. His knees were tucked underneath his chin and his arms were holding them there, fingers interlocking with each other. Yet his cold blue eyes looked almost sad, rather than worried.

"If I'm okay? You don't look so good yourself, mate." I said, shuffling backwards and leaning against the drawer next to my bed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." He said firmly, quickly coming out of his somewhat alarming trance. His hands released his legs and they folded automatically. He also attempted a smile, one that seemed incredibly false in comparison to the one that had been sketched over his face at the concert. The concert... Shit.

"What time is it?"

"Just gone quarter past five." Sherlock said, checking his watch.

"Quarter past five?!"

"Yep." Sherlock nodded, and I slouched back down.

"Shit... I've been in bed all day?" Sherlock nodded in reply, watching me as I sank lower back into the duvet.

"Don't worry. I told Mrs Hudson that you were ill so you won't get into any trouble." He said, reaching over for his laptop which was hanging precariously over the side of his bed. I rubbed my eyes. Slowly I stood up and marched towards the bathroom, grabbing some clothes as I went.

"What're you doing?" Sherlock called as I stepped onto the tiled floor. The coldness of it made my feet sting.

"Getting dressed." I replied shortly, before clicking the bathroom door shut. I checked my jeans that had acted as my pyjama bottoms for my phone, and found it nestled between several coins. Unlocking it turned out to be a bad idea.

"... Sherlock?" I called through the wooden door, and received a reply of 'mhm'. "I've had a text..."

"From your father?" Sherlock asked, I snorted.

"Yeah obviously, but another message. Some unknown number. Creepy though." I heard Sherlock's bed springs creak as he got up.

"What does it say?"

"'Do you want to buy five hundred thermometers?'" I read aloud. The bathroom door burst open. "What the fuck, Sherlock?!" I yelled. I was only in my boxers. "Get out!"

Sherlock reached across and snatched the phone of me, then turned and fled from the room. Leaving me standing on the freezing cold bathroom tiles. Lucky me.

**Sherlock's POV**

"George!" I hammered angrily on the dorm room door. "George! Open the door!"

The door opened ajar and Lestrade's eye was visible.

"Yes, Sherlock? And it's still Greg. Always has been actually..." His voice trailed away.

"When are you next going to the Police Station?" I asked. Twirling John's phone around impatiently in my pocket.

"Urgh... Tomorrow? Why?"

I ran my hand through my hair, biting my lip furiously as I did so.

"Doesn't matter. Can I use Mycroft's laptop?" Lestrade looked at me uneasily. "Wait no, he can't know. Can you take these-" I handed him mine and Johns phone "to the Police Station and trace that unknown number?" I pointed at the message John had received.

"Sherlock... It's probably just spam." Lestrade groaned, attempting to hand me back the phone. I glared at him. "... Or not. Can't you do it? I'm sure you know how..."

"The police will be more accurate." I told him.

"I'm guessing Mycroft isn't to know about this?"

"No. Don't tell Mycroft anything."

"Right." Lestrade nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you."

Several minutes later I found myself back with John, who was looking extremely grumpy as I bounded back into the room.

"Where's my phone?" He half growled.

"Lestrade." I replied curtly.

"Lestrade? What? Why's he got my phone?" John's voice had risen now. Apparently while turning slightly hysterical a persons voice did that. John was no exception.

"I got one of those texts, too." I explained, opening a draw, grabbing a phone and tossing one to John who caught it. John gave me a look that told me to continue, so I did. "You got that text at what? 10:35am?" John nodded.

"That's what it said..."

"Right. I got a text last night, after the concert, asking me whether I enjoyed it." John's placid facial expression told me that he was none the wiser as to what it meant. "It means that someone knew that we were at the concert. They also know that we know about the thermometers. Which means that they probably know about your father too. If they knew about your father, then it might give us a good guess on how he got into the school." John blinked. I groaned at the thought of explaining in further detail. "Someone let your father into the school, but they didn't tell him where we'd gone after we left, meaning that they have an ulterior motive than just getting rid of you. But it does still involve you because otherwise why would your father even be involved? And if it's about you then why am I being dragged into this?"

John raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure you're not looking to far into this?"

"Absolutely not. You join a group of boys who are very picky about who they let in, you almost get stabbed, and then your father shows up. All while there's a murder enquiry going on. There's obviously more to this." I stated.

"This is too much to think about on an empty stomach." John decided, stretching. It became apparent that he didn't understand the gravity of the situation. There was someone who meant to do him harm and all he was thinking about was dinner?

"You can't go down to dinner." John looked shocked. "You're ill, remember?" I pointed out, and his mouth formed an 'O'. "I'll go down and grab you something."

I made my way over to the door, but John stopped me.

"Sherlock, why are you helping me?"

"... Because my brother told me not to."

**Gah I'm so sorry this chapter took so long, I've been seriously busy with school and being a general all-round lazy shit who's developed an obsession with Cabin Pressure. So yeah. My bad. **


End file.
